


A Time for Wolves and Dragons

by bruja6110, lestat_jesse, The_canon_is_a_lie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brandon Stark Lives, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Lyanna Stark Lives, Margaery Tyrell Lives, Ned Stark Lives, Rhaegar Targaryen Lives, Rickon Stark Lives, Robb Stark Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 93,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruja6110/pseuds/bruja6110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lestat_jesse/pseuds/lestat_jesse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_canon_is_a_lie/pseuds/The_canon_is_a_lie
Summary: Got Season 7-8 retelling with a flare of creativity.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark, Brandon Stark/Alla Tyrell, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 120
Kudos: 259





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, that this took so long to do. I'm not much for excuses but here's the story. The plan is to have a chapter every two weeks.

Cold. It was the first thing to come to him. Ice, wet, freezing cold. He was so tired. Each time he went into a vision with the raven, it seemed as though he became more and more tired. “Boy, you must wake up. The raven said it's time to continue.” Leaf’s voice broke through his sleepy haze, reminding him that he still had more to learn. Bran thought Winterfell was cold, but beyond the Wall was something else, it makes your skin hurt, and breathing becomes difficult. The darkness of the cave doesn't help either, as there is barely any light. Knowing that he's here for a reason he touches the inner recesses of his mind, trying to find his purpose.

Bran closed his eyes suddenly and he was everywhere all at once. It was as if time had stopped, but hadn't at the same time, he was no longer connected to his body. Once he opened his eyes he was standing over a void of the past, present, and future. "Bran we have a chance for all of us to survive. but only a slim chance." Brynden Rivers said walking over to Bran. As the past, present, and future mixed all in one. "How will we all be able to survive?" Bran asked the three-eyed-raven in shock. Brynden sighed as he looked over at his protege, “Coldhands or as he was once known as Benjen Stark .” Brynden said in desperation as he turned his sad eyes on Bran. 

“Benjen Stark is dead.” Bran said Looking at his mentor with a look of disbelief on his face and in his blue eyes. "Then show me his body." Brynden replied, to Bran's dismay.

“He was, but Leaf saved him the same way that she created the night king, but you won't remember until it's the right time. You must throw that memory away for now so that you can get to the real life that you will lead.” Brynden Rivers said, Bran finally came back to his broken body, he looked at the man who was currently still connected to the heart tree roots. 

Bran felt tears roll down his cheeks as he looked over his shoulder and watched as Summer, who was currently bumping his head against Mera’s outstretched hand. Hodor was helping Leaf and the other children of the forest gather the last remaining food, balls of magic, and water. Bran sighed as he met the red eyes of Brynden Rivers, he nodded his head letting his mentor know that he was ready to learn.

“They are here.” Leaf said, sounding frantic. “Bran we need Hodor.” Meera cried out causing Brynden to look over at Mera and the rest of the fearful children of the forest. “My power is keeping us safe from the night king. Making sure that Bran’s mark isn’t permanent.” Brynden said, sounding weak and drained. 

“What do you need?” Leaf asked as Meera looked around from Leaf to Brynden then back in confusion entering in her green eyes. “Call Benjen and horses to get to Winterfell and as much time as you can give us.” Brynden said, causing Leaf to nod and look at her remaining people. Meera sighed, looking at Bran once before grabbing her new bow the children of the forest had made her and walked out of the inner cave with the rest of them. 

The cold air starts to permeate the room and the chill of death starts to creep up their bodies, making it up to their necks. Meera readies her bow and looks out the cave to see what brought on this cold. Outside, there are the dead men, bones and torn flesh, rags and worn clothing tattered and hanging from their bodies, surrounding a group of white walkers, standing like carved ice statues. The horde of blue eyes starts to glow brighter and brighter, and the blinding light of the blue eyes just stop and stare. The silence is as haunting as the cold, as the bodies of long dead people line up like a well disciplined infantry. 

Meera feels her quiver to make sure she has plenty of arrows. Now she checks for her dragonglass spear and dagger to make sure they are all there. With a rumble and a crack of ice, the dead men start to run towards the cave of the Three-Eyed Raven. Before Meera can even hear her heartbeat or her breath, all she can hear is bone crunching, and teeth chattering, along with the beat of heavy footsteps shaking the ground. She launches arrows at them, hoping to pick a few of them off, but the arrows don’t affect them in the slightest. Whether the arrows land in the head or heart of the dead men, they continue to trudge forward, only the ones with pitch and flame on the arrowhead had any effect at all. 

The Children of the Forest launch flaming weapons at the entrance to block the access to the caves, but the flames die out soon after in the cold, only slightly deterring the stampeding horde of dead men. With a shroud of icy winds quickly approaching, Meera runs back into the cave to protect her travelling companions. Much to her chagrin, she realizes that she only has a few dragonglass weapons, so she’d better make them count. 

Meera turns to look over her shoulder and to her relief she sees Leaf and the other four remaining children of the forest rushing towards her. “Benjen and several horses are on their way to us.” Leaf said with a look of both dread and hope. Meera placed her hand on Leaf’s small shoulder causing Leaf to lock her yellow eyes on Meera in surprise and shock. “How are we going to get Brynden out of the roots?” Meera asked as one of the children of the forest raised what looked like an eyebrow as he held up his makeshift dragonglass dagger as if to prove a point to Meera. 

“The old fashioned way Meera.” Stone said teasingly back even in the face of certain death. Meera rolled her green eyes back and gently tossed her bow down on the cave floor as Hodor helped Stone and Meera over to the roots that covered Brynden. Hodor held them steady as Meera and Stone began cutting away at the roots that had grown around him over the last thousand years. “Place the pieces in a pile and if we can save. We must take them with us.” Brynden said with his eyes closed. Causing both Stone and Meera to jump at him unexpectedly speaking, a smirk appeared on his lips.

“Hurry up the dead are almost upon us and we are running out of bombs.” Aspen shouted up at Meera and Stone. Meera wiped sweat from her forehead as she glared down at the child of the forest who was one of the leaders, she looked up at Meera with a shrug. “We have three more roots to cut off. If you think this is easy why don’t you come up here and help us?” Meera snarked back causing Sky to snicker as she threw another bomb at a wight that broke through the top of the cave. 

Moss grabbed his spear with a dragonglass tip and began jabbing the wights that surrounded them. “Any bright ideas on how to get out of here with us all alive?” Leaf asked Brynden as she turned her yellow eyes on him. His red eyes met hers, he gasped in shock as Meera cut the last of the roots that had held him place for a thousand years. Meera and Stone climbed on Hodor’s back as Hodor caught Brynden before he could fall face first to the snow-covered cave floor. 

“I have two things that could work. But I am weakened in power and Bran is nowhere near ready for the power the spells require to get us out of here.” Brynden said in a grunt as Hodor lowered him to the ground. The wights broke through the roof of the cave and began cascading to the cave floor, Leaf and the children of the forest looked at them in fear. Meera grabbed Bran’s hand as he looked at her knowing that they were surrounded on all sides, all thought of escape was gone now. Bran closed his eyes as he clutched a bunch of Summers' fur as he whined feeling the hopelessness of the situation they were in.

A load snap echoed throughout the rather small cave stunning the five children of the forest, Brynden, Bran, Summer, Hodor, and Meera. All the wights suddenly began shattering into small pieces of ice, little balls of light could be seen zig zagging around the wights until all the balls of lights came to a stop in the center of the cave. The balls of light began forming into what appeared to be a rather tall figure, making them all wonder what they were dealing with?

The bright light disappeared and a tall man with long dark brown hair stood in the light's place, he turned to look at the children of the forest, Bran, Summer, Hodor, and Brynden with a smile appearing on his too perfect lips. His grayish-silver eyes locked with Bran and Meera, he wore a grey cloak and his skin was flawless like he had never been in snow before or seen a hard day's labor as well. “Who are you?” Meera asked as she stepped in front of where Bran lay. Meera drew her arrow back looking into the grayish-silver gaze of this strange man that was trying to get closer to Bran. “You are really your father’s daughter Meera Reed.” He said with a flawless voice.

Meera narrowed her green eyes on him, while Brynden’s red eyes widened “You're an old god?’ Brynden asked in awe and in disbelief. Meera scoffed as she tightened her grip on the bow watching “this” god closely. He just smirked as he continued to stare at Meera, “Yes I am. Do you want to stay here threatening me with a bow and arrow that won't work or get out of here?” He asked with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“I don’t trust you. You kill Bran and I will find a way to kill you.” Meera threatened, as she lowered her bow and arrow. “I promise Meera Reed. I am no threat to Bran Stark, the children of the forest, Brynden Rivers, the direwolf, or even Hodor.” He promised as he arched an eyebrow at her. “Good.” Meera said reluctantly, stepping away from Bran. The old god nodded his head as he waved his hands in the air in front of them, the cave vanished and they landed in snow. No weirwood tree in sight, “I cannot be here long, my herald will be here soon enough.” The old god said as Leaf looked around as tears rolled down her brown cheeks. 

“We survived Leaf, now we have a chance at a real future.” Aspen said, as Leaf sighed and turned to glare at her.“It was still your home.” Meera said, causing Aspen and Leaf to look at her with wide eyes.“That place was not our home.” Aspen sneered in anger as her yellow eyes narrowed on Meera. Bran watched the exchange between Aspen and Meera with curiosity in his blue eyes. “Maybe it wasn’t yours. But it clearly meant something to Leaf.” Meera snapped back causing Aspen to look over at Leaf. “I am sorry Leaf.” Aspen whispered then looked at Meera with respect entering into her yellow eyes. 

The old god took advantage of distraction and walked over where Bran Stark currently lay in the snow. Bran, feeling as though someone was staring at him, looked away from Aspen, Leaf, and Meera’s argument to look at the source of the stare. “Can I help you?” Bran asked, feeling slightly vulnerable and uncomfortable at the same time. “Brynden Rivers is lying to you. There is someone who will teach you and help you with the long night better than he can. Fire and blood.” He said, causing Bran to gasp and fall unconscious to the ground. 

He woke up disoriented as he stood up looking around the landscape realizing he was somewhere far warmer than he had been in seconds ago. “Rytar is not known for his manners.” A woman said, causing Bran to look around and groan as dizziness began to affect him. “Slow down my young wolf.” The woman said, once more as she stepped from the shadows and grabbed him by his heavy brown fur cloak. 

“Where am I?” Bran asked as the woman laid him gently to the ground. That was not covered in snow, but grass and sand. Her violet eyes narrowed on him as she bent away from him for a second, “You are the greenseer, so you tell me.” She snarked back at him. Causing him to frown at her as she rolled her eyes. “Brynden Rivers was only half right about what you can and what you can’t do with your abilities, Brandon Stark,” she continued“And still, you haven’t even begun scratching the surface of the power that now runs through your veins.” 

“Who are you?” Bran asked in fear. He is in Valyria! He hated to admit it, but when he began this journey Beyond the Wall, he’d never felt real fear. Yet, when the Night King had touched him, when the Night King had killed Bryden Rivers, and now with him being stuck with this woman, he felt afraid. Bran thought to himself.

“It’s good that you feel fear. It means that you are ready to expand your powers that Bryden Rivers and the Children of the Forest could never begin imagining.” She said, lowering her hood. Her gorgeous silver hair then cascaded down her back and her violet eyes locked with his. 

She’s a Targaryen, but that’s impossible, he thought to himself. All the Targaryens besides Daenerys are dead. A smile formed on her painted red lips as she stepped closer to him.

“A long time ago, I was given the name “the Dreamer,” when Dragons soared the skies when Direwolves roamed the North freely, and when magic was practiced without fear of persecution.” She said, a dark look entering her purple eyes. His eyes widened, he only heard of one with the title of that name.

“You’re Daenys Targaryen, you’re the Dreamer?” said Bran in shock and awe.

“Yes,” She confirmed before helping him stand and motioning with her hand for him to follow her into the cave that stood behind them. Bran gaped for he had not noticed the cave before, he sighed realizing that he had been dizzy and busy waking.

He sighed and followed her. She walked past the towering castle above, leading them into the entrance of the cave that she came out of. He raised an eyebrow at her when she stepped back and pointed with her finger further into the cavern. He shrugged his shoulders and walked closer to her.

“Many years, I have been waiting for you here, Bran. But rest assured, this place is neither a punishment nor a reward. I was meant to help the next Three-Eyed-Raven before going on to join my family in the Night Lands.” Daenys explained to a baffled Bran. He looked at her with wide eyes, she talked as if she had been waiting only a couple years for him, not nearly four hundred years.

A sad smile appeared on her red lips. “Time moves differently here, Brandon Stark, as you will learn soon enough,” Daenys replied to him as he looked at her, trying to catch the meaning behind her words.

She waved her hand, a clear sign she was not yet ready to let him know what that all meant. “I thought Brynden was teaching me everything I needed to know?” Bran asked and Daenys sighed. 

“Have you wondered why - when you called your father - why he could hear you?” She asked. Bran nodded his head. Brynden had never explained how his father could hear him, he’d almost forgotten this until now.

“The Starks have always been very powerful, but sadly for your ancestor, the Children of the Forest found out. That was how they were able to create the Night King. That was how the Night King was able to gain control over himself. It was through the power in your veins, which makes you a warging greenseer, seeing things before they happen.” Daenys revealed.

This is too much, he thought to himself, trying to process what she was telling him. It wasn’t like she was lying; he knew she was telling the truth. “Why did the old god send me here?”

“You are here because you must bring back five people if the world will be able to survive this pending Long Night.”

This caused Brandon Stark to start laughing. What she was saying was impossible. She only stood before him with her eyebrows raised, it was clear she didn’t find this funny. 

His laughter died when he realized that she was absolutely being serious. Bran threaded his fingers through his hair in frustration. How do I keep finding myself in these strange fucking events that shouldn’t even be possible? I shouldn’t be here, I should be with Meera and the rest of the survivors, he thought.

“Part of the gifts that the heart tree has given me after I came to this place of Limbo, is being able to read your mind.” She said. Bran sighed and nodded his head since it made sense.

“Who are these people that I am to bring back?” Bran asked in defeat, knowing this was his fate.

A sad look passed through her purple eyes, making him wonder if this process was bad, or if he wouldn’t like some of the people he was going to bring back. He sighed as he waited to hear the news.

“You will be bringing back Lyanna Stark, Rhaegar Targaryen, Ned Stark, Robb Stark, and your uncle Brandon Stark. Each and every one of them has a purpose for the war against the Night King.” She explained.

Bran then looked at her with a quizzical stare in his eyes. He had to wonder about her mental state. If she thought in a million years that he’d bring that man, that rapist, that murderer back to the world of the living, then she had another thing coming. 

“You can see so much, and yet, you’re still blinded by lies and anger. Emotions have no place here, Bran, that was how Brynden became a part of the heart and now lies about your full potential, because he is afraid of your joined powers with Jon and Daenerys.” Daenys lectured him calmly.

Bran then huffed; he felt like a child once more being chastised by his mother. He hated feeling like this, weak and not understanding of anything of what she was telling him about Rhaegar. 

“Your father promised his sister on her deathbed, something that you will soon learn, and when you do, you will understand why your father is truly the most honorable man that the Westeros ever had.”

Bran shook his head. Brynden had hinted this back to what had happened at the Tower of Joy. It was not what the world of man and history knew, only the memory through the weirwood trees knew the truth. This means, no, he can’t be,he thought, stepping away from Daenys.

“Everything will be explained soon, my Broken Wolf, but the time has come to bring back the seven.” Daenys urged Bran, he sighed and nodded his head.

She’d been the only one of his teachers that was telling him the truth. So, in fairness, he owed her his trust. “Drink this.” She said, handing him a veil of dark liquid. Bran grabbed it from her hands and looked at her questioningly once more.

Daenys sighed and rolled her purple eyes at him. He frowned at her. “This will take you to the domain of the God of Death.” She explained and grabbed Bran’s free hand. She guided him into the cave, forcing him to sit near the fire that was blazing in a circle of stones. 

“I’ll be bringing back Lady. She will be a guide for your family to find each other..” She said, waving one of her hands, crystals of blue, pink, and purple formed a circle around them. Summer wined as the wind began picking up around them. Daenys began muttering in Valyrian again.

“Once you look into the flames and drink the contents of the veil, you will only be allowed to feel these emotions. Pain, loss, sadness, anger, and love, you must not allow hatred to enter your heart once in this domain. If you do, you will be lost, and I will not be able to save you from it.” Daenys said, warning him. Bran nodded his head in understanding.

“I’ll not be with you physically, as I’m not allowed to. This step of your journey is yours to take alone, though I’ll be in your mind guiding you.” She told him, he frowned at this new information.

He looked down at the veil, only for a second, wondering if he was truly ready to do this alone. Bran looked at Daenys, who gave him a small reassuring smile, and he took a deep breath. Then he brought the vial to his lips, drinking the jar, tasting its contents until the flask was empty. He handed the empty vial over to her, who took it and placed it in her bag next to her legs.

“The flames before you are of the ancient fire of my people, known as dragon fire. Once the flames accept you, you will be protected from the God of Death. The flames will help you bring your family back from the dead. To do this, though, you must remember your family. You must also resist allowing hatred to enter your heart.” She explained once more.

Bran smiled slightly. No pressure there, Bran thought to himself, looking away from Daenys and into the flames.

Bran stared into the flames that seemed to dance in front of his eyes, and changed colors. “You’ll need to get closer to the flames.” Daenys urged Bran, who sighed, knowing she wouldn’t tell him any of this if he would hurt himself.

So, he moved closer to the flames, and as he got closer to the flames, he felt almost like the flames were drawing him in. The flames turned blue. Bran raised an eyebrow, wondering what the meaning was behind this color. “The flames have accepted you. Now, close your eyes and clear your mind.” She explained; he nodded his head.

Bran instinctively pulled Summer closer to his side, he knew whatever came next, he needed his closest friend with him. He closed his eyes and cleared the uncertainty of his mind. Once his mind was clear, he waited for what came next.

“Now, open your heart to sadness, pain, loss, anger, and love. Then once you have done that, you must open your eyes, and you will find yourself in the domain of death.” Daenys instructed.

Bran allowed his heart to open up, he felt a flow of emotions that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since Theon Greyjoy had betrayed his family when he took Winterfell.

“Bran, we will have time to explore these emotions later, but now, you must focus on the other emotions that you are feeling and hold those. Then bring them to the surface ahead of all the other feelings you feel.” Daenys said. Bran took another breath. Trying to calm his emotions, and once he found what he was looking for, he imagined a hand pulling them up.

“Good, Bran. You are now ready to begin.” She said when Bran opened his eyes and saw the ever-changing fire that was known, dragon fire surrounded him.

While the flames of the Domain of Death tried to incinerate him, the protective flames around him refused to let it. Bran took a few steps and felt the flames trying to enter his mind. He felt hatred trying to take control of the feelings he was holding onto like a lifeline. His hands that were at his sides began balling into fists as he tried to fight off the hunger of hatred, probing his heart and mind with every step he took.

Bran closed his eyes as he cleared his head of his thoughts of Cersei, Joffrey, Tywin, and the rest of the Lannister’s. He allowed the memory of Jon messing his hair up, and the smile his brother gave him while he leaned down and told him that someday he would make the best knight the Seven Kingdoms ever had. The memory of his mother and father smiling down at him as he tried to use the bow his father had made for his 10th name day; the way Robb had teased him.

The feeling vanished when he opened his eyes and saw his father, aunt, brother, Rhaegar, and uncle. His eyes widened. What did this mean, Bran asked himself.

“This means you have passed the test that the God of Death laid before you. Now, you must stand between them, while holding to these emotions and think of the wolfswood where you found the dead Direwolf. That place is the only place where the Night King can’t get his hands on them.” Daenys instructed.

Bran nodded and moved to the unconscious members of his family. He closed his eyes, and once more, he held on to those emotions before thinking of the exact spot where Jon had found the six Direwolf pups in the wolfswood. Once he opened his eyes, he was back in the cave with Daenys, who was looking at him with a sad and a happy smile on her red lips.

“Did it work?” Bran asked as she pointed towards the flames.

“Look for yourself, my Broken Wolf.” She said, causing him to sigh.

He looked into the fire and saw a clear view of the wolfswood right outside Winterfell. Tears of joy fell down his cheeks when he saw his father, his uncle, his aunt, Robb, and Rhaegar begin waking up. They were looking around in confusion, shock, and fear, wondering how they were inside the wolfswood right outside Winterfell. Daenys speaks to him while he is in his dream-like state, "Bran, your blood is powerful," she starts saying with Glee. There are yet others that I will bring back to this world, and you will understand when I do." Daenys says in his mind. He can see her, standing there, watching his family rise out of the snow and to their feet, and his excitement is so heightened that he cannot hear what she is saying any longer, he can see her lips moving as the link is severed and her silver hair and violet eyes fade into nothingness.

The feelings that welled up inside him became augmented by the howling of the direwolves, so familiar, but yet so distant. Bran has to wonder what his role will be in all this...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, back with another chapter. Good day to anyone that is reading.

Meera’s green eyes widened in fear when she heard a loud crunch in the freshly fallen snow, she placed her hand on the hilt of her dagger, as she spun around ready to face the army of the dead. Only to see the old god standing over an unconscious Bran, the hold on her dragonglass dagger loosened, as she cried out in worry. The dagger fell to the snow-covered ground as she rushed over to Bran, “Bran!” she cried, as tears rushed down her now pinkened cheeks from being exposed to the cold air. 

“What did you do?” Meera asked, as she narrowed her green eyes on the old god. Anger and fear filled her as she grabbed the dagger that laid a foot away from her and Bran. Tears continued streaming down her cheeks, as her hands began shaking with worry for the still unconscious Bran. His grayish-silver eyes locked on her, “The Long night is coming and our survival is dependent on what Bran Stark learns now.” He said as he looked at the children of the forest and Brynden Rivers. 

  
  


“Where did you send him?” Brynden asked, his red moved between Meera and the old god. The old god turned to look at Bloodraven with a raised eyebrow, “He is being trained in Old Valyria.” He said, as Brynden’s eyes widened as he realized who the old god was talking about. The old god smirked, as he vanished into tiny balls of light, that zig zagged into the cold night air.

“Where is Hodor?” Meera asked, finally aware of the missing giant. “Meera, Hodor died saving me from a wight.” Bryden said, Meera looked up into his red eyes and that held sadness. She then looked over at the unconscious Bran, with another shake of her head.  _ There were too many losses already, but Hodor was the kindest giant, and he didn’t deserve this end. _

  
  
  
  


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Once the live vision faded from the flames, he turned away from the fire to look at Daenys. She was collecting her crystals, placing them in a bag he’d not seen before. A tear then slid down her rosy cheeks. Bran titled his head to the side in confusion.  _ Why is she crying? _ he asked himself.

“Oh, my Broken Wolf, the price for bringing back our chosen ones was a high one to pay,” Daenys revealed to Bran, who looked indifferent, he’d assumed there’d be a price to bring them back. He rose from the ground near the fire and walked over to Daenys who still collected her crystals.

“What was the price?” he asked. Deep down, he felt a sense of dread. Daenys paused in her collecting of the stones, and for the first time she looked up from the ground. Her purple eyes locked with his and held for a few seconds before he sat back down on the rock he had once occupied.

“It is not yet time for you to know this, Bran, you will learn of it when it is time. The Three eyed raven is entering your mind slowly but surely, and you will know when it is the right moment.” Daenys replied with a cryptic tone. Bran doesn’t like the sound of this, but not much can be done about it at the present moment.

“In the original timeline, that no longer exists, Summer, Brynden Rivers, Hodor, and the children of the forest gave their lives for you.” Daenys replied, as she looked up into Bran’s blue shocked filled gaze. 

“You’re saying that when I decided to look through the heart tree without Brynden’s guidance and met the night king, I brought all of this on us?” Bran asked, in disbelief and hurt. Daenys put her crystals in the bag and glanced over her shoulder at him with a bleak look in her violet eyes. Bran looked down at his hands for the first time he understood the magnitude of his impatience and his decision.

  
  


“You have great power Bran. But you have great arrogance as well, that must be squashed if you will make a great Three-eyed-raven. To be a leader Bran, you must put aside your own desires and wants, think of the lives around you and depend on you.” Daenys said, honestly as Bran nodded his head. “I am sorry, I was a young Lord on the run from someone that I thought was like a brother to me. I had to learn how to not be so, headstrong.” Bran said, as Daenys’ violet eyes softened.

  
  
  


“I forget how young, you still are my broken wolf. You still have to learn from these mistakes.” Daenys said, as Bran wiped a tear from his cheek. “Bryden Rivers, The children of the forest, Summer, and Meera are still alive. But one member of your group didn’t survive, and I am sorry Bran. Hodor died before Rytar could save all of you.” Daenerys said, with regret. 

Her violet eyes filled with sadness as Bran looked at her with a blank expression on his face. Bran shook his head as his hands balled into fists, angry tears rolled down his pale cheeks and dripped onto the undisturbed greyish soil. 

“Now you must lean back and close your eyes once more, when you open your eyes you will be back with Meera, Brynden, the remaining Children of the forest, and Summer. If you need me, I am still linked through your mind.” Daenys explained, as Bran closed his eyes and leaned his head back in her beaconing hands, the fire grew bigger and once again lit blue as darkness greeted him.

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_ Rhaegar grunted under the force of Robert’s warhammer as it came down harder than the last blow. His teeth clenched as his valyrian steel sword barely took the brunt of this blow. Rhaegar was nearly flown back in the water of the Trident from the force, his indigo eyes narrowed in the slits of the helmet at his cousin.  _

_ Rhaegar knew that one of them was not making it out of this water battle-field and he was determined for it to be him that made it out alive. Rhaegar thrusted forward, slashing down Robert’s left arm and ribcage. Robert cried out in pain as his blue eyes filled with renewed rage as he raised his warhammer high in the air. Rhaegar took a deep breath and moved to block his warhammer only for the warhammer to smash in his chest. His sword falls to the ground as Rhaegar looks around realizing that he was the one not making it out of here alive, he staggers back as Robert looks at him with an evil look in his blue eyes. _

_ “Lyanna.” Rhaegar said, as he fell into the rapid water as the rubies from his armor scattered all around him and darkness became his friend. _

  
  


Rhaegar gasped as he sat up from the ground, he looked down at his body, to see if the wound that his cousin had given him was still there. Rhaegar’s indigo eyes widened when he saw his black plated armor still intact along with the rubies decorating the three-headed-dragon.  _ None of this made any sense. _ He thought to himself, for the last thing he remembered was dying. Rhaegar closed his eyes as shame washed over him for a long period of time, he shook his head and opened his eyes once more.

He narrowed his eyes, in suspicion.  _ I had best take a look around.  _ Rhaegar thought to himself. He got up from the wet ground and looked around at the lush forest and the snow covering the ground. Rhaegar felt dizzy as he realized that he was not at the Trident but somehow in a forest in the North. Rhaegar fell back on the ground he had just gotten off of, trying to figure out which part of the North he was in. 

_ The children of the forest must somehow be involved in this. The question is why and how many others did they bring back?  _ Rhaegar mushed. 

Rhaegar was still contemplating this when he felt a wet nose bump his ungloved hand. Rhaegar turned slowly, his sword reaching for his valyrian steel sword that he still had at his side. His hand gripped the hilt at the ready to strike before he turned to see what creature was in the forest with him. His indigo eyes widened in surprise as he came face to face with a small grey direwolf with yellow eyes.“Do you know where I am?’ Rhaegar asked the direwolf that looked at him.

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow for it was like the wolf could understand exactly what he was saying. “Can you find us food?” Rhaegar asked, half jokingly and half seriously as his stomach growled. The wolf almost seemed to roll its yellow eyes at him as it turned around and walked deeper into the forest leaving him in silence. Rhaegar sighed heavily,  _ guess that answered that.  _ Rhaegar thought sadly to himself. 

A few minutes later the wolf came bounding out of the bushes with a dead rabbit in its mouth, the wolf promptly dropped the rabbit at Rhaegar’s feet causing him to bow his head in thanks. Rhaegar began building a fire and set out skinning the rabbit as he cooked the meat over the fire with a long stick. He threw some of the cooked meat over to the direwolf who happily ate the food, while he ate the rest of the cooked meat. “Maybe we can find our way out of here or find other people soon.? Rhaegar pondered to the direwolf, who sat there next to the fire wagging its tail. 

“Thank you for the food and finding me.” Rhaegar said, as the direwolf turned its head to the side. Rhaegar shrugged his shoulders as he placed the last of the meat in his mouth and dosed the fire. The wolf stood up, watching as Rhaegar stretched and looked down at his hands that were clenched in fists on his thighs.  _ What had become of my children, my wife, my mother, brother, & baby sister?  _ Rhaegar asked of himself, trying very hard to not cry.

The direwolf bumped its wet nose against his hand, causing him to get out of his head and into the present. Rhaegar looked down at the small gray direwolf, looking up at him, letting him know that it was here for him. He smiled down at it, as he cautiously placed his hand on top of its head and patted its head. “Thank you my friend.” Rhaegar said, as its yellow eyes blinked at him for a second before turning around letting Rhaegar know it was time to move on. Rhaegar got up from the ground and dusted off his black armor and he took a deep breath as he followed the small grey direwolf deeper into the forest. 

“How am I alive?” A familiar voice shouted into the lush dark forest. Rhaegar found himself pausing for a second, trying to find where he had heard that voice before, and once he was able to hear the voice, he found himself paling.

Rhaegar closed his eyes and took another long deep breath before he moved towards the voice that belonged to Lord Eddard Stark. “Well, it looks like we’re wondering the exact same thing, Lord Stark, or perhaps, you prefer good-brother?” Rhaecgar asked, of the brown-haired man. Ned whirled his head around, his grey eyes widening in shock as he saw Rhaegar. To Rhaegar’s ever-lasting surprise Ned looked older than the last time he had seen him, which most have been during the battle of the trident.

Ned whirled his head around, his grey eyes widening in shock when he saw Rhaegar. Ned looked older than the last time Rhaegar had seen him during the Battle of the Trident.

__________________________________________________________________

_ Screams of pain filled the small room. “Princess Lyanna you have to push.” the midwife said soothingly as more screams of agony filled the room. The screams echoed off the brick walls, she flung her head back on the sweat filled pillows. Lyanna closed her eyes as she pushed with all her might once more, crying out in more pain. Little cries from babe filled the room this time, causing Lyanna to open her eyes in joy as she tried to get a good look at the child she had just given birth to.  _

__

_ Lyanna’s head fell back on the bed, she felt light headed, as she waited for her baby. The midwife walked back over to the bed and showed Lyanna her baby boy, who was now bundled up in a grey blanket. “You have a beautiful baby boy.” the midwife said. The midwife helped Lyanna arrange her arms to hold her baby boy properly. Lyanna felt tears rolling down her cheeks as she stared down at her dark haired beautiful son.  _

_ Lyanna felt weakened, she fell in and out of sleep. “She will not survive. She is in a bed of blood.” the midwife whispered to septon.  _

Lyanna Stark gasped, shooting up from the ground, looking down at her legs to see if she still had blood between them. Her eyes widened when she saw no sign of the heavy blood loss that she remembered losing. She stiffened as the memories began flooding back into her mind, she remembered her son.  _ Where’s my son? Where’s Aegon! _ She panicked to herself before she started to shout his name. Tears were rolling down her eyes when she realized she couldn’t find her baby boy.

Yet, more of her fears came to surface, once she realized she was no longer inside the Tower of Joy. She began looking around and paused; she was in the wolfswood right outside Winterfell. How is this possible? She silently asked herself, stumbling around, before tripping over a log and face planted onto the ground.  _ Is this the magic that Rhaegar has always been talking about? _ She then mused. That was the only explanation she could think of which could explain what had just happened.

__________________________________________________________________

_ Ned looked around the steps of Baelor and saw the shouts for his head, he bad always prided himself for being an honorable man. He had rebelled against the Targaryens for murdering his father and older brother. Then, Robert accused Rhaegar of kidnapping Lyanna Stark.  _

_ That caused him to kill Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Oswald Whent, and Ser Arthur Dayne. Only to discover that Rhaegar had saved his sister from father and married her, they had a true-born son named Aegon VI Targaryen.  _

_ The kingsguard dragged Ned to the guillotine, and shoved him to his knees, Ned placed his head on the guillotine. “I promise Lyanna.” Ned whispered under his breath.  _

Ned opened his grey eyes and let out a loud gasp. The sound of a howling wolf in the distance was familiar, but also a little haunting. Ned looked around frantically, then calmed when he saw that he was not at the steps of Baelor and there was no crowd cheering for his head. His hand shot up to his neck and released a sigh of relief wondering if, what all of that had just been some night terror. It felt so real though...

Sinking down on the frozen tundra, with the cold seeping into his weary bones, letting him realize that was all the wake up call Ned needed, and he proceeded to take another look around. His grey eyes widened when he realized he was in the wolfswood,  _ How did I end up here?  _ Ned asked himself.  _ This would mean that what I had experienced wasn’t a dream.  _ Ned thought to himself in horror as he slowly got up from the frozen tundra and began wondering how long he had been dead for. I clearly went south to Kings Landing, and they took me prisoner for telling the truth about Joffery’s birthright, namely that he has none. _ Then they had Ser Ilyn take my head, but he is definitely standing in the wolfswood, and Eddard Stark lives once again. Did the gods deem me necessary, did I have more to do?  _ He thinks to himself. The mention of the word birthright makes the bile in his throat rise a bit at the thought of Jon. He failed him, as much as he could have failed anyone, but perhaps this is the chance he needs to correct that. Then the dread creeps into his veins, and he realizes that there may be a more sinister purpose for him to exist again. Mayhaps the reason for his demise was the failure to keep the promise he made to Lyanna...The gods punish the just and the unjust after all, so this may be his debt coming back to get him by way of his life returning to him.

_ What kind of magic was this? Who had a hand in bringing him back from the dead and why?  _ He thought somberly, looking around the wolfswood for any sign that held the answers to his questions. “Why am I here? How am I alive?” Ned asked loudly in wolfswood to no one in particular. “Well, it looks like we’re wondering the exact same thing, Lord Stark, or perhaps, you prefer good-brother?,” a familiar voice asked.

Ned whirled around fast.  _ I can’t possibly be hearing Rhaegar Targaryen? I must be going mad! _ Ned thought to himself to calm himself, His eyes widened when he saw what should have been a ghost, standing in front of him.  _ Is this the old gods way of punishing me for my mistakes?  _ He asked himself once more. In black armor, still shining with rubies and a red three-headed dragon sigil, the Last Dragon stands before him, armored and curious as to their current predicament. 

“You alright, Lord Stark?” Rhaegar asked, his indigo eyes filling with concern, coming to his aid. Eddard shook his head as Rhaegar’s indigo eyes narrowed. Ned suddenly felt dizzy and his knees buckled underneath his weight. Rhaegar muttered curses under his breath, he quickly stepped up to catch him before he could fall face-first into the ground. “I didn’t take you for the swooning type.” Rhaegar jokes. 

“I’m usually not. But I haven’t had anything to drink or eat.” Ned admitted. Rhaegar looked over his shoulder and smirked as he placed Ned’s arm over his own shoulder, he helped Ned over to a fallen log. Ned raised an eyebrow as he watched, his good-brother scope snow off the ground. 

“What are you doing?” Ned asked, Rhaegar who looked at with a cheeky grin. Ned’s grey eyes widened when he saw a small grayish direwolf rushed out from bushes with a strange rock in its mouth. “Lady?” Ned whispered in shock as he watched the direwolf drop the rock into his good-brother’s hand. 

The direwolf looked at him with her yellow eyes, she then bore her white teeth out at Ned. Before she then turned and sauntered back into the bushes, she had just come out of. Ned sighed,  _ I did kill her. Maybe it will take her some time to forgive me.  _ Ned thought to himself as he turned to look back at Rhaegar. 

Rhaegar had built a fire and was melting snow, turning it into water. Ned arched his eyebrow,  _ What in the name of the old gods is Rhaegar doing?  _ Ned asked himself. Lady starts a low growl at Ned when another set of footsteps comes forth, surprising the both of them, while Rhaegar is just casually putting the melted snow in a skin bottle for the water that he’s producing. Why is he the only one concerned about the approaching footsteps. Then his guilt comes back to him full circle as Lyanna steps towards them, eyeing him, Rhaegar and Lady intently, and showing no signs of fear.

That’s how Ned knows it’s really her. 

She runs to Rhaegar and hugs and kisses him, not caring a bit for the indecency of the situation. They start to whisper and look in Ned’s direction, while he tugs on his collar in discomfort at the two of them. Lyanna’s grey eyes work their way through his body seemingly, piercing his heart and the anger behind them scares him as if it's his time to die. Only the calming voice of Rhaegar speaking softly, that calms the situation between him and his sister. 

“Lord Stark. I have not threatened you once, nor have I raised my voice in the slightest against you. However I have learned some disturbing news and I’ll hear the truth from you this day. This very moment in fact.” Rhaegar says, as his face slowly morphs into a snarl. It looks just as fierce as the snarl of a dragon. “Lord Eddard Stark, just where is my son?” Rhaegar asks as he flinches in fear. 

His breathing gets hot and heavy, and panic grips him, as strong as any he has ever felt. It’s hard to breathe, and the war memories come full speed at him, threatening to send his chest into a whirlwind of fear and dismay. Lyanna doesn’t like the look of it as she walks up to him, not at all interested in his mood, and simply asks. “Eddard, where the seven hells is my son?” He staggers and stammers to the ground with the weight of his sins bearing down him. The fatigue and the burdens of being alive again come in full force and Ned collapses, laying out cold on the icy ground. 

His eyes blink open again as the warmth of a fire, still trembling and laying in the snow, but the tremble in his body is not from cold. 

“This winter will be harsh, Lya, I don’t know how long we have been gone but this one is going to be nasty. It might even come with the shroud of death, with this foul smell I can tell. It sounds like all of those stories that I read about the long night. The stories all mention a dark shroud of ice, followed by a darkness that doesn’t vanish with the sun. I do think our son is the only one that can bring the dawn forth, but where could he be?” Rhaegar asks with great sadness.

“You and your damned prophecies. Maybe he is somewhere warm, sitting in the sun, brooding like you.” Lyanna says. 

Ned gulps and all attention is on him again. Lady just curled up in the corner with her yellow eyes observing the situation, and the direwolf doesn't have a care for the words they are saying.

“He went...to the Wall…” Ned says in a low tone, as the winds rustle the trees and send snow falling from the tree tops to the ground. Lyanna shot up from the ground, anger present in her grey eyes.

“He went where?” Lyanna practically growls out, approaching Ned with a dagger.“The...Wall…” Ned says, and immediately he is on his back with his wolf of a sister and lady both snarling at him. Lyanna places her knife at his throat in anger. 

Ned’s grey eyes widen as he looks up and down the blade of the dagger at his throat, “Go ahead Lya, if you can look me in the eye and tell me that you didn’t cause Rhaenys, Aegon, and Elia’s death for both of your love?” Ned replied through clenched teeth. Lyanna’s grey eyes widened with both shock and horror as the dagger she was holding fell to the frozen tundra ground. “That’s what I thought. You also never even asked about Benjen. I guess he doesn’t matter to you after what you had him do.” Ned sneered back at her as Lyanna gaped at her brother. Ned picked up the dagger she had just dropped and placed it into his cloak.

________________________________________________________________

Benjen froze in place for a second as he saw the great weirwood tree burning and being overrun with. It fills him with a huge sense of dread, he wanted to think that the Three-Eyed Raven was wrong for once, but he hasn’t been wrong yet. Slowing the stride of the great elk he rides, he leads another elk along with him, just as the Raven told him to. 

The horde of dead men swarm the tree, and Benjen has no idea of how he will rescue his companions, but he’ll not choose today to be a coward. He urges his great elk forward, anxious to defend his nephew from the dead, not knowing exactly what one guy can do. That won’t stop him from trying. 

He remembers his lessons from being a child, and never have they mattered more. “In winter we must look after one another,” his father would say. He’s not really Benjen Stark anymore, but we hardly ever lose the things that make us who we are. The elk that he dragged along with him starts acting strangely as he approaches, staggering and slamming his trampling legs down in the ice, but his mount holds steady as he approaches the Great Weirwood cautiously, and he starts to notice that the elk has started to run over to the other side of the great tree. 

Somehow he knows that he needs to follow, and he lights the flame on the end of his makeshift burning chain, to help fend off the dead. Each step closer makes it where he can hear the snarls and the gasps of the corpses that should no longer be moving. 

Truth be told, that’s how he sees himself, but that doesn’t matter right now any way. There is a force guiding him now, and he doesn’t yet understand it, but if it helps him to live long enough to protect them, he’ll not question it. 

An explosion, hot and heavy with the smell of death, leads him to the thick of the battle, and Benjen’s chain is ready to strike down any and all of these unnatural creatures.  _ Time to protect your own, _ he reasons to himself. 

He speeds his mount along, and notices people running from the flock of dead, but most of them are moving slowly. His great elk rams into the sidewall on the way in the tree, speeding towards the danger. Benjen swings his burning chain, knocking out the dead that are within reach and sending pieces of bone and dead flesh tearing and ripping around the cave ripe with vines from the weirwood. The screeches and screams would break a normal man, but perhaps this was the reason that he was made into Coldhands. 

White balls of light dance and zig zag around the wights until they all converge into the heart tree. Suddenly the wights began exploding around him, causing him to pull on the reigns of the elk he was currently riding on hard. The elk skidded to an abrought stop, Benjen jumped down from the back of his friend and landed on the frozen tundra with a loud crunch under his boots. He pulled down his hood as his grey eyes took on the damage of the heart tree then shook his head, he muttered a curse under his breath.

  
  
  
  
  


He jumped back on the elk and closed his eyes, trying to get a sense from the children of their location.  _ Come on damn you Leif! You cursed me for this inbetween life. I can’t lose any more of my family. _ Benjen thought rather loudly in his head knowing that Leif and Brynden could hear him. “Hodor.” a familiar voice said not to far from him. Benjen opened his eyes and locked eyes with the friendly giant named Hodor, he was holding the door to the heart tree against the last surviving wights.

Benjen closed his eyes, knowing there was nothing he could do for his long time friend. His hands balled into fists once the location for his nephew was finally given as he opened his eyes, feeling helpless.“Hodor,” Hodor says one last time, before he is drowned in a sea of dead men, as Benjen rides to where his nephew was. “Loyal to the end, goodbye my friend.” He says in a shattered glass voice. As he turned, he looked straight ahead and rode faster towards the remote area that the remaining children of the forest, The Three-Eyed Raven, Meera, and his nephew were now at.

Benjen places his hood back on to remain concealed once he gets closer to the isolated wasteland that only had one sapling of a weirwood tree. He shook his head as he saw another group of wights moving closer to the people he was trying to save. Benjen twirls his burning chain around the wights, slaughtering and burning the unfeeling corpses. He hoists Bran and the girl up on to his elk and they don’t question him as of yet. Probably more glad to be alive than concerned for his identity. Then the Three-Eyed Raven is carried by the children of the forest over to the other elk, with Brynden Rivers proceeding to skin change into the elk, trying to lead them away and towards the wall. 

The young girl with dark hair and weapons at the ready shoots an arrow into the walker’s head and shatters him as they head away, and that slows the remaining wights for a beat, before they can catch up to the speeding elks. “Meera, her name is Meera,” says the Three Eyed Raven, as if reading his mind, perhaps he was just staring at the girl.

“Who are you?” Bran asks finally, and Benjen removes his hood for all of them to see, surprising all of them except Brynden. The Three Eyed Raven always knew, just about everything.

“Jojen had told me that the Old Gods would be with us when the danger comes. It doesn’t feel like it, but Jojen had never been wrong.” Meera says with a bit of lament in her tone.

“They walk among us, child. How do you think we are here now?” Brynden replies, pointing to Coldhands, with a trembling finger and hand. 

Still pointing to Benjen, Brynden Rivers speaks slowly, “You are no longer Benjen Stark, but an Old God embodied in the flesh of a frozen man, here to fulfill your purpose, and you are not quite yet finished.” 

Bran looks at him with longing eyes, and surprise is written on almost all of their faces, but it confirms what he had begun to suspect all along. His life was not really his own anymore, but it hadn’t been for quite some time.

_______________________________________________________________

  
  
  


_ He struggled against the ropes around his neck, desperately trying to get to the sword that was out of his reach. Every scream that slipped through his father’s mouth urged him on. The ropes around his neck tightened, making it very hard to breath as he struggled to reach the sword that would free himself and his father. To his everlasting horror, he then watches as his father’s body becomes nothing but char, in the green fire in front of him. Now his own vision began to darken as he was unable to get breath into his lungs, tears of both anger and grief rolled down his cheeks as he knew his death was upon him. _

__ Right after the panic of losing his life came a long gasp of air, the tight pressure around his neck was gone and he could take in air. Taking a long gasp of air that sounded like a grating wheeze as he breathed in, getting the precious air into his parched lungs. Coughing and wheezing as air became easier to breathe. 

Parching heat coursing through his throat no longer burns and he slowly realizes that he is no longer having to fight for every breath. His blurry vision begins to clear as he frantically looks around half expecting the "Mad King" to still be cheering in the background. “Where in the seven hells am I?” He asked, realizing he was no longer in the Red Keep.

Holding his hand out, and then witnessing the snow falling, with the biting sting of cold air, he knows he is alive, but Brandon Stark, former Lord of Winterfell, knows that all is not right....

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. I'm glad you chose to read our story.


	3. Chapter 3

Margaery sighed with relief when she saw Elinor being escorted into the sept of Baelor. The high sparrow walked down the stairs and smiled as Elinor kneeled on the ground before the statues of the seven gods. _It's hard to believe this place has turned into one of such discomfort and disdain. When just months ago I had married here and prayed to these gods._ Margaery thought to herself, as the high sparrow and his men headed into the sept. This should be a good place to be, but she is overcome with a sense of dread, standing near the sept, but not yet going in. Lancel Lannister, no...brother Lancel, beckons her forward to come inside. “Have you prepared your testimony, Your Grace?” Lancel asks. The trial had started already, voices echoing through the Sept.

“I have come before the faith and the people of Westeros to tell the truth in front of the gods. The queen mother Cersei Lannister summoned me to her quarters one day and began talking about how she became queen. About how the sack happened... What happened to Princess Elia and how the large guard at the door was actually the mountain that rides. She then told me that if I didn’t turn against my cousin, she would give me to the mountain to do as he pleased. That what he did to Princess Elia would be nothing compared to what he would do to me.” Elinor confessed, loudly, and where Margaery could hear her.

“Has Cersei not arrived yet?” Margaery asks Lancel with a raised eyebrow. “Not as of yet, Your Grace, King Tommen is late as well.” Lancel replies. No Tommen, No Cersei...This is madness, and something is not right! Those are the only two people that Cersei cares about...Margaery thinks to herself. Now I must look for every excuse to leave this place. What shall it be? Think Margaery, think! In the background she can still hear the testimony of Elinor. “My child, We thank you for coming forward with the truth. After further investigation the faith has found the two of you, Elinor of house Tyrell, and Alla of house Tyrell are innocent of all crimes the queen mother, Cersei Lannister falsely accused them of. You are all free to go.” The high sparrow said, causing Alla and Elinor to cry out in happiness and disbelief. The High Sparrow pauses, letting silence reign for the moment, and she is the next person up. “Queen Margaery of house Tyrell shall be the next to testify.” The High Sparrow announces. Too late for her now, and no excuse to leave, what can she do now? Lancel stands outside of the sept with her, before something catches his eye. A child running into the grounds below the sept. A dangerous place for a child. “Where is your crown, Your Grace?” Lancel asks as he looks back at her.

She had it when she left. Did someone take it while she was going to the sept. Funny thing, something is clearly wrong, but this is an excuse to leave and she’ll not pass it up. “If you’ll excuse me brother Lancel, I must retrieve it, I just heard that Elinor and Alla are finished testifying, may they accompany me please?” She asks with the sweetest fake smile that Westeros has ever seen. Lancel is barely paying attention, but he waves her on. “Fine, fine.” Lancel says, and another member of the faith heard them and brough Alla and Elinor forth, to their confusion.

Three guards accompany, one for each of them. Now to get rid of these sparrows that are following them... Brother Lancel now goes after the small child that they saw, leaving them to their own devices, but with the few guards accompanying them. It’s better odds than before, but the question now is, what are they going to do to ditch these sparrows? When Elinor and Alla come closer, she locks arms with them and tells them, “We are leaving,” silencing any questions that either of them may have. The guards behind them don’t seem to hear them. As they walk in a practiced fashion towards Margaery’s chambers, a beggar is sitting there on the ground. “I have something you want,” the beggar says, in an oddly familiar voice. Perturbed by the sound of the voice, Margaery comes closer to the beggar, and an emerald flashes before her. It looked like one of the emerald-clad roses from her crown... Though she was feeling relieved, the tingle that went down her spine told her that something was wrong.

Knowing that Cersei had yet to arrive; more importantly, Tommen as king was also missing, she remembered that she must leave this place, and leave immediately. She cares not one bit for that crown, the beggar can have it, his face concealed by the black hood that he wore. The beggar stands up and proceeds to hand the crown to Margaery, slowly, and yet as he does the three guards are upon him. “Step back sir.” The guards say, then the beggar quickly pulls out a dull practice sword and knocks the three men unconscious, before getting closer to her and slowly removing his hood. Revealing the most assuring face she has seen in quite some time, her brother Garlan.

She has never been so excited to see her brother in her life. Alla and Elinor are just as shocked as she is, but they don’t have time to be scared. “Come.” Garlan says, her valiant brother leading them away from the city and hopefully anywhere that isn’t here. She’d even accept Essos at this point. Garlan leads the three of them towards the gates of the city, but before they get there, he dons his hood again, reaching into a bag and handing them three hoods to conceal their appearance. They all make it safely to the gates, where there is a carriage with a small rose on the wooden door of the carriage. “Where will we go, Garlan?” Margaery asks, not truly concerned, but curious nonetheless. “The last place where anyone would ever think to find us, sweet sister. The only place in Westeros that has any honor, and may be safe from the coming wars.” Garlan says. “The north?” Alla asks hesitantly, with a tremor still running up and down her spine.

Her long tawny hair looked as if it hadn’t been brushed or bathed properly in a long while. Garlan nodded his head confirming Alla’s theory, causing Margaery to feel a little bit more relieved. “When I danced with Sansa Stark at your wedding, she told me how horrid this place was, and I knew she told me true. I didn’t know how deep the rot was in this place, but she told me that if she ever escaped that she would gladly repay the kindness that our family showed her. With a common enemy now in Cersei, we shall take her up on her offer.” Elinor grabbed Alla’s shaking hands and smiled comfortingly at her, “Sansa will help us.” Elinor whispered, though Margaery could tell that Elinor wasn’t sure she believed her own words. The horses carrying the carriage start to sputter and come to a stop when a shockwave shakes the ground, causing her heart to pound, and the boom feels unnatural and unnerving. As she looks back a green explosion happens, engulfing the sept of Baelor in a green flame, that melts the stone like candle wax, and makes short work of the building, sending the bell flying off of the top of the sept and towards the city. A foul flame, deadly and bright, and suddenly the horses gallop off at breakneck speed, towards the north and the rest of them ride in silence. The thick, dark cloud of smoke rises from the sept, and King's Landing is just as quiet as they are. __________________________________________________________________ At Sunspear, the sun starts to set on a quiet palace still reeling from the coup of Ellaria Sand. She looks around the area and appears to like what she sees. Blood and bodies, one of the things that always turned her and Oberyn on. Ellaria grits her teeth and the thought of her dead lover. She doesn’t think she’ll find another man like him. “I’m sorry Oberyn, Doran was too weak. Will you forgive me?” Ellaria whispers in a very low tone. The Sand Snakes start to clean up the bodies, taking gold and silver pieces from the purses of the deceased. The power and gravity of the situation starts to dawn on Ellaria and she sits in Doran’s chair, prepared to kill the Lannisters. Allies, that’s what she needs, and Ellaria thinks that the Reach shall be the first raven that she sends. “He would not have forgiven this, Ellaria.” She hears behind her, much to her shock and dismay. Who could this be? She wonders until the clanging armor of soldiers. There are lots of them making their way into the palace, out in the water gardens. It’s Arianne, with a small army, ready to take her father’s seat back. “He may have been a little weakened, but he was still my father. He didn’t trust you, and I see that he was right not to.” Arianne spits out. She looks to the sand snakes with a slight bit of disgust and then back to her.

“It has nothing to do with being a bastard.” The soldiers form a circle around Ellaria and remove her weapons and poison vials, leaving her bare and exposed if Arianne wants to kill her. It looks like she doesn’t know what to do with the Sand Snakes. Arianne starts scrutinizing Ellaria, looking to break the woman’s composure and see through her. “What was your plan, exactly?” Arianne asks with a raised brow.

“To put Dorne in strong hands.” Ellaria replies. “What were you going to do when Trystane learned of your treachery? Did you think him so weak that you could send him to Kings Landing and not remember his family?” Arianne asks, as Ellaria’s face starts twitching. Now Arianne narrows her eyes, she knows something is amiss. “What’s happened?” Arianne asks quickly as Ellaria looks to her feet in shame. Nymeria steps forward with a look of trepidation and fear. “Trystane is dead.” Nymeria says, as grief works its way into Arianne’s expression. “You killed my brother...you bitch…” Arianne yells out to Ellaria, and then a soldier butts his spear into Ellaria’s face when Arianne nods to him. Blood slowly trickles down her brow and drips from her chin, while she doesn’t hardly flinch from the pain. “Who did it?” Arianne asks. Ellaria points to the Sand Snakes, and Arianne starts shaking her head. Obara steps forward.

“No…” Arianne whispers. “It was me…I’m sorry…” Obara stammers out fearfully. “Who put you up to it?” Arianne asks, unsheathing a sharp dagger from her belt. Obara points to Ellaria and the woman starts shaking. “I...I…” Ellaria stammers out and then Arianne stabs the woman in the heart, leaving her body twitching and the blood of her heart starts pooling under her, thick and spreading, turning darker every second. No one says anything upon watching her die. Arianne stares at the life fading from Ellaria’s body and doesn’t turn around in the slightest as she says, “Obara.” Obara slowly walks up to her, trembling and unable to look away from Ellaria. She falls to her knees. “I’m sorry, Ari.” “Don’t call me that. I am Arianne Martell. It’s time you learn that.” “You are my cousin, Obara. How do you let this woman convince you to kill Trystane? He may have been a little shit, but he was family. You thought Ellaria would be better?” Arianne asks disdainfully. Obara looks out of the corner of her eyes, and doesn’t respond.

“You are my cousin, and I shall not kill you, but you will not betray me or Dorne ever again. Am I understood in this matter?” Arianne says, with her jeweled necklace and rings glistening in the sunlight, making her look ever so queenly in the eyes of the Sand Snakes. Tyene is weeping over her mother, but not a grief-filled cry. Obara stays on her knees in acquiescence, tapping her spear on the stone floors of the palace and the other Sand Snakes follow her lead. Arianne’s expression doesn’t outwardly change.

“Take Ellaria’s head to Cersei, Obara. Tell Cersei that we mean her no harm. But do not bend the knee, the dragons have come to Westeros, and I suspect that Daenerys will be eyeing Dorne as an ally. Get an idea of Cersei and the capital. Report back to me after you have delivered my message to this Lannister.” Arianne says disdainfully at the mention of that name. Arianne now sits in her fathers’ slightly blood stained chair, hating the fact that she now needs to keep a close eye on her cousins. Is there anyone that she can trust? She wonders to herself. ________________________________________________

_Robb looks at his uncle, who stands before the seven pointed star and near the altar as he awaits his bride. Walder Frey walks down the make-shift aisle with his daughter, who was covered with a white-laced veil over her face. Robb watched as they walked past them and walked to stand before his uncle, Edmure Tully. Walder Frey removed the white-laced veil revealing a very beautiful young woman. The festivities begin to dwindle down, the musicians begin playing a song called “The Rains Of Castamere”. Walder Frey stands up from his seat and raises his golden goblet up in the air to make a toast to Robb. “Robb, it's a trap!” his mother screams a warning to him, only for him to be shot several times by crossbow bolts, he falls to the ground in pain. He crawls on the cold floor over to where his wife lay unmoving, he pulls her into his arms only to find that she is dead. Tears of grief and anger fall down his cheeks. Rob is able to find some last strength and pulls himself off the floor, “Mother.” He calls, out in a daze as he searches for her, around the grand hall of the Twins._

Robb opens his eyes and takes a long deep breath that comes out more as a gasp. He sits up and begins frantically looking around, even as he took more deep breaths. Memories came flooding back of his wife’s death and then his own. Where am I? He asked himself as he whipped his head around like a mad man trying to figure out where he was. Robb stiffened as he realized that he was no longer in the grand hall of Twins, there was no Roose Bolton standing before him, or a Walder Frey looking down at him with his goblet still raised with a smirk upon his lips. Robb paused once he felt the frozen tundra underneath him, he finally took in the lush forest around him. How in the seven hells did I end up in the wolfswood of the north? Robb asked himself. His hands cautiously moved up his legs to his chest, then to his back, touching every where he knew that he had been wounded. Was my death some kind of sick night terror? Robb questioned himself , once he found none of those wounds. But, if this was all some sort of sick night terror, wouldn’t he still be at the Twins? Robb asked himself, fear sends chills up and down his spine. That had nothing to do with the chill in the air. A new wet sensation on his bare hand caused Robb to jump and look around for what caused the new feeling, his eyes widened when familiar yellow eyes stared back at him. Tears of joys fell down his cheeks, “Grey Wind?” Robb asked, as his voice cracked on a broken sob. Grey Wind whined in acknowledgement, causing Robb to throw himself into Grey Wind’s smoky grey fur. He holds Grey Wind for a few more seconds, as memories of his dead wife and unborn child replay back in his mind. His yellow-eyed companion runs away after licking his burning tears, trying to lead him somewhere and he follows. Robb then treks through the snow, towards where Greywind leads. He knows these woods well, but something about the woods seems different to Robb, aside from the fact that it’s winter. After following his familiar to their destination, he finds a Weirwood tree, still watching as always, but there is a man, dark haired and solemn, almost like Jon. Then he’s baffled by the sight of a Heart Tree, surrounded by the thicket of forest in these familiar woods. He makes his way towards the unnerving sight. Since when is there a Weirwood in the wolfswood? The man seems impatient, but Greywind cements the fact that he’s familiar in some ways, as the direwolf never let anyone quite that close to him. He walks up to the Weirwood, then the man turns towards him, reminding Robb of Uncle Benjen, Jon, and even his Lord Father. There’s a direwolf sigil on his chest, confusing him even further. What is going on? “Who are you?” The man says, eyeing him suspiciously, and Robb doesn’t miss the way the man has a hand on the hilt of his sword belt. “I am Robb Stark. I used to be...King in the North…” Robb says with lament. “Stark? You look like A Tully fish to me.” The man says with a snarl. “I am Brandon Stark, the eldest son of Rickard and Lyarra Stark. You pretending to be a Stark, boy?” Grey Wind starts growling, walking up on this Brandon Stark. He had better watch himself.

“I am the son of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark. I am no boy either. Have care how you speak to me, Uncle.” Robb replies with a resolved look in his eyes. “Eddard, had a son? With Catelyn? Where have I been?” Brandon says to Robb, curiously. “Dead.” Robb says. “You were killed by the Mad King.”

“Targaryens, damn them!” Brandon says, before turning his eyes to the weirwood, laying blanketed in the snow. “Why are we here, I wonder? Did Old Nan manage to bring us back in one of her stories?” Brandon asks. Good Question. The Weirwood tree’s face starts contorting and both of them hear the wood creaking and turn back towards the tree, and the gaunt, pale face of the Weirwood glances over them, before speaking to them in a whisper. “Winter...Fell…” The tree says in a low whisper that’s difficult to hear. “We must go to Winterfell, Uncle Brandon. I pray that we can make it, and it seems that life has passed us by. I hope we can make it home in one piece.” _______________________________________________

Jon walks into the Solar of Eddard Stark, the man that raised him. Also the only man that could tell him who his mother is. It’s a bitter mood that washes over him. He’s King in the North, the same way Robb was when the Karstarks betrayed him. Then the Lords turned their backs on him for the most part. The table feels bigger than it really is, and the room is bigger than Castle Black was in Jon’s mind. He has to wonder if he deserves this, he never wanted this, well not like this. He can see Ice in the corner of his mind’s eye, the greatsword of his father. He wonders how heavy it must have been to an untrained man. Can Jon Snow fill the boots of Eddard Stark? A wolf howls in the distance, and it doesn’t quite sound like Ghost. Blue eyes still haunt his thoughts, waves and waves of them. The Northmen are not enough, and they are often too proud to accept the help of southerners.

Surviving this winter will be the tallest task that anyone has ever asked of anyone. Good thing everyone trusts the Bastard of Winterfell with their lives, Jon thinks to himself bitterly. Now the door creaks open before the darkness of his mind can swallow him whole. It’s Sansa. “Jon, I need to speak to you.” His eyes narrow towards her, and she doesn’t back down from his stare into her deep blue eyes. “What can I do for you, Sansa?” “I need to know what your plans are for the North, I need to make sure that you are comfortable with being a King…” Sansa says.

“Comfortable? I was never allowed to sit at the table with you...Starks…” He says while Sansa grimaces at his words. “You are my brother, Jon. I may not have told you before, but I do love you. I wished that I could have seen your face once more when I was imprisoned in King's Landing. I was quite the stupid little girl. You always knew something was off with Theon. You also had a good sense of judgement, from the time we were young. You will be the best King that I have ever seen, and I’ll help you.” Sansa says. She doesn’t seem to realize he spent the last few years of his life at a frozen castle, with murders and rapists, most of them better liars than the one standing before him right now.

“One hundred thousand.” Jon says, not at all convinced of Sansa’s mummer’s farce. She looks at him with curiosity at what he said. “One hundred thousand dead men. Invading from the North, and steel blades won’t kill them either. Only flame and Dragonglass and Valyrian Steel. They make you wonder if you can ever hope to stop them, and your mind will tell you no. If we lose, that’s it for all of us, and every man that dies becomes part of their army.” Jon says coldly. A wolf howls again, and he remembers that sound, it almost sounds like...no it can’t be. “Jon…” Sansa starts to say before Jon cuts her off.

“Save it, Sansa. I appreciate you sending the Vale to our aid, but you lied to me. You knew that we had more men and you would have your commander believe otherwise. Our Lord father taught you better than that.” “It was this honor you are speaking of that got him killed, Jon. Surely you won’t repeat his mistakes.” He slams his hands on the table. “Eddard Stark was a flawed man, aye. He’s also rotting in the crypts, but we will preserve his memory as long as I draw breath. I had to listen to men on the Wall speaking of Lord Eddard that way, and some of them I almost killed. I’ll not hear these words from his daughter.” “Your Grace.” Sansa says, with a lady-like curtsy. She starts to walk away as a drawer in Ned’s desk pops open with a strange drawer underneath in a hidden cabinet. There are a few unopened letters in the drawer and Jon picks them up. It’s to Lord Eddard, from Ashara Dayne of Starfall. Sansa looks on when she hears him muttering at the opening of the letters. 

**To Lord Eddard Stark, It troubles me to write this letter to you, because you have a child of your own now, with the Lady Catelyn. I do not understand why you’d not write to me after all of the affection you claimed to have for me. I did not take you for a liar, but you have not shown to me that you spoke true when you told me that you love me. Nevertheless, I shall inform you that I am with child, your child. The Maester says that the babe will be healthy, and that I may be carrying more than one. I want to see what you will do with this information, and if my letter goes unanswered then I will know you have forgotten me. Choose wisely, Lord Stark. P.S. Thank you for swearing my brother to stay in Dorne and protect me, Arthur was sorely needed. Thank you for not killing him, when it came time to do battle. When you swore him to stay in Dorne, he was reluctant, but he will stay until it is time for the Dragons to fly. Some prophecy he heard from Rhaegar, no doubt. They were always close like that. Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall.**

  
“What does it say?” Sansa asks. Jon just stares at her. She looks ashamed at him, staring at her feet for a moment. The sound of Wolves howling in the distance is echoing in his ears. It’s cathartic and nostalgic. “Jon, you should know that that drawer you looked in is the drawer my mother had. She hid some things from my father and put them in the drawer, she also taught me how to open a letter and reseal it. I’m telling you this because I want to always be honest with you. You deserve that from me.” He looks at her again, surprised that she told him that. Perhaps she is not as bad as he thought after all. It’s a start, at least. “Also, Jon...the wolves that are howling...I swear that one of them sounds like Grey Wind. Did you notice that?” ___________________________________________

Sand and warmth. That’s what Daenerys can feel right now. Not the kind of warmth that reaches the heart, but the warmth of sun on her face, with a beach and a dark castle. Obsidian carved dragons, that make her feel like she’s actually the blood of the dragon once more.

_Aegon Targaryen’s seed, in the flesh, returns to claim what is hers. It’s difficult to feel like Daenerys Targaryen, First of her name, but her council will guide her to her eventual goal. Mhysa, Your Grace, My Queen, they call her, but she wants a place to call home. Essos was greedy and evil, the former masters worst of all, but she did not love the land. This land of Westeros is supposed to be her home, where the dragons conquered the world, but the sentiment is unfamiliar to her._

“Your Grace.” Tyrion says with a bit of fear. “Yes, Tyrion?” She replies. “Ser Barristan and Quaithe were speaking to you. They wish to show you where your mother lived...and...died...Your Grace.” Tyrion says, making her blanche at the thought. Grey Worm comes forth with a slight bow and as usual, a serious expression.

“My Queen, the castle has been made safe for you. The burning stag banners are here, but this one wanted you to be the one to take down the banners. My Queen.” Missandei holds her hand and they roam the castle together, throwing down the burning stag banners, and her mind’s eye imagines the black banner with a red dragon in its place.

“I’ll get the Targaryen banners, Your Grace.” Missandei says with a sly smile, leaving her alone with her thoughts of being in her birthplace once more after so many years. This stag will burn alright, Daenerys thinks to herself, still looking over the Baratheon banners. Looking over the castle built by dragons, namely her ancestors, the castle walls start to come alive in her mind.

Burdensome, being the Last Targaryen is, and the realization of the truth is as heavy as it has ever been. The rest of the day goes by in a blur until day turns into night.

Lightning streaked across the sky as the thunder echoed throughout the castle. Daenerys Targaryen looked out at the sea from the arched window of what Tyrion called “the Chamber of the Painted Table” where Aegon Targaryen’s infamous wooden carved table was just behind her. The dark painted table reflected her mood well, with the storm representing what she wants to bring to Cersei Lannister. I wonder if this place will ever feel like home, Daenerys wonders to herself. Outside, the winds powerfully howled as the waves raged; loudly colliding against the rocky terrain that her birthplace was built upon. The wind’s ever-changing directions brought drops of rain that would splash her skin, bringing forward the realization that this was the first time she had experienced the sensations. Watching the lightning bolts illuminate the stormy sky of her ancestral home fascinated her, she’d never truly seen a rough sea storm like this before in her life. From the moment her hand touched the sand, she felt like a visitor, feeling as if she didn’t belong. However, after stepping through the doorway and into the castle that once belonged to her family, she found herself connecting to the area around her in a way she didn’t believe was possible. Lost in her thoughts at the scenery in front of her, she barely heard Missandie’s sweet voice. “Your Grace?” “Yes, Missandei, what is it?” Dany asked, knowing that her friend would not just interrupt her silent thoughts. “Your Grace, I believe I may have found something that belonged to your mother,” Missandei held an out old, well used, black leather-bound book in her hands. “There was a loose stone by the head of the bed, I accidentally knocked it when I was changing the linens.” Dany’s violet eyes widened, quickly motioning with her hand for Missandei to pass the book to her. Unable to hide her smile, Missandei carefully passed the black leather book to where she sat at the table. Dany’s hands shook as she gently held the book, reverently touching the cover, lightly running her fingers over the words

“Rhaella Targaryen” on its worn black leather cover binding. Ser Barristan’s armor starts clanging as he approaches her. “She wrote in this book often, Your Grace. It may be painful to read.” “Thank you for finding it Missandei,” Daenerys whispered with tears welling in her eyes. This means more to her than she had previously known. A link to her mother. It may fill some of the missing pieces that she found in herself. It’s a powerful gesture, from the knowing mind of her best friend.

“You are very welcome.” Missandei then lightly squeezed Dany’s shoulder, silently giving her support, reminding her friend that she was never truly alone. “We may have to keep this journal between us for now, I am not sure how Varys and Tyrion would feel about this discovery. It may shed some light on the days of the rebellion that were not...recorded correctly.

I don’t trust them with this, but you can use it to see if they tell the truth when you ask them. Your eyes only, Your Grace.” Barristan warned, looking between Missandei and Daenerys.

“Very well, we shall tell no one except the ones in this room.” Daenerys commanded, everyone nodded their heads. A larger than normal black cat with white spots hopped on Daenerys’ lap, purring rather loudly. A smile that could light up the room graced Daenerys’ lips, as she petted her female cat known as Meraxes after Rhaenys’ dragon. Ser Barristan starts laughing, uncharacteristically.

Daenerys raises a brow, wondering what’s so funny. Before she can ask, Ser Barristan answers her. “Sorry, sorry, It’s just that the cat reminds me of how young Rhaenys was with her little cat, Balerion, she named him. It was just a great sight to see. She would run after him, much to the chagrin of the Kingsguard, and then she’d tell men that Balerion was a fearsome thing.

It was one of the few times where we got to smile at the innocence of a child.” Ser Barristan says, coming back to reality. “Truly, I must say that even if thousands of miles away, the Targaryens have many similarities.” Ser Barristan continues, as a tear glistens in his eye. “I just wish that we could have met…” Daenerys says, letting the silence linger just a bit. “I have always wondered, your grace if I may ask you a question?” Ser Barristan asked the queen who was talking to her cat campion in high valyrian. “Go ahead Ser Barristan.” Daenerys said, her focus still on Meraxes. The large cat butted her head against Daenerys’, causing Daenerys to chuckle. “How did you acquire Meraxes?” Barristan asked, causing Daenerys to freeze and look away from her cat.

“Quaithe gave her to me, when I was eight years old. We have seen a lot together, and we have made it, sometimes with only each other. ” Daenerys said, as she pulled Meraxes to her chest and got up from her chair. “I find I am suddenly tired.” Danerys said, as they bowed and she walked out of the painted chambers quickly. Leaving Missandei, Barristan, and Grey Worm looking at where she had once been with narrowed eyes, as they wondered what more there could be in her past that they didn’t know.

After she leaves the room, Daenerys opens the journal and reads the thoughts of her mother.Learning all that she could about the woman who had died bringing her into this world. With the journal still in her hands, she began drifting off to sleep, dreaming about her mother and father, dragons and conquerors, as well as lions and stags.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with a new chapter. Some chapters get edited once we find some things that need changing, but we'll keep you posted on that.

Chapter 4

  
  
  
  
  


Inside the Red Keep, Cersei Lannister looked out the balcony, observing the King’s Landing inhabitants, consisting of sailors, merchants, soldiers, smiths, pillow girls, nobles, smallfolk, and children. Children, children? Children... _“Gold will be their shrouds!”_ she heard the voice of Maggy the Frog say inside her head. 

A series of memories then flashed in front of her; Joffrey choking, Myrcella’s eyes stoned, Tommen’s broken body, and then, she heard the creature.  _ “Your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth!” ENOUGH! I WILL BE IMMORTAL! I WILL RULE FOREVER!  _ Frantically, she let her wine glass freefall, it hit a smallfolk below, bloodying the peasant’s face.  _ I WILL BE THE LION!  _ She ponders to herself.

Turning her heels around, she strolled back into the Red Keep, walking into the painted map room. Looking up, she saw her brother enter the room from the other side. “Your Grace,” he said frilly.

“Tyrion is the Hand of Daenerys Targaryen, he’s now actively trying to destroy us, and you saved him, the little monster.” said Cersei, seething like a snake. After a slight nod, Jaime’s gaze then fell on the painted map below. “Olenna Tyrell, the miserable old hag has joined her army with the Dornish whore, Ellaria Sand, they’ve all but declared for the Dragon Queen!” Jaime looked up; he was looking at her now with two wide green eyes. “Ned Stark’s bastard is now the new King in the North, along with that murderous whore of a sister counseling him; they are all traitors!” Cersei screamed; Jaime felt his skin go cold.

“Sansa Stark killed Joffrey, our son. I will see her dead. You will lead my army to Winterfell, you will take out the Starks, they will all die! We’ll kill them all, we'll kill them all, we’ll kill them all!” She said, muttering to herself like a mad woman. Jaime turned his head and looked at his feet. “Kill every Northerner and show them that nobody laughs at Lions! The North will learn that we lions eat even wolves!” Cersei shrieked crazily.

Jaime then looked up from his feet to look at her with confusion and fear present in his eyes. “What’s with that look?” She asked, feeling her anger riling back up, it only caused him to stay quiet. “Are you afraid of me?” She asked; her breathing becoming hyper.

“I always have been, but perhaps now, a little more than before. Do you want me to kill all the Northerners or do you want me to conquer the North?” Jaime japed, hoping that she wouldn’t kill him.

“Both!” She snapped, waving her hand as if she was growing bored with this conversation.

“Not even Aegon Targaryen did that, why do you expect that from me?” Jaime asked, slightly disturbed. He was trying to wrap his mind around how she acted before he’d left for Riverrun and how she was currently acting.

“You’re my brother, I always knew we could do anything we wish, together we could do whatever we please, including taking every castle in Westeros, forcing them all to bend the knee, one by one.” She said, looking at her twin brother while swirling a dark red wine in her golden goblet.

Jaime felt as if he was getting sick. “You’re a madwoman, father was never this rash.” he said in return.  _ When had she become the very person I had killed all those years ago? Burn them! Burn them all!  _ Jaime still returns her kiss when Cersei meets his lips with hers. For a second she is able to numb the pain of losing her children.

_ That’s the Jaime I love! I would have killed any other man for speaking that way to me!  _ Cersei produced a horrifying smile on her lips. “Drink with me!” She poured two goblets for her and him.

She handed it to him, he held it close, sniffing it quizzingly, but the smell of the “wine” was rather off. Jaime has seen battle plenty of times, and knows when he sees blood, but he’s not that sure that Cersei would do that. “What the fuck is in this glass?” Jaime asked her; he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know.

“Tommen,” She purred, in such a tone that it sent chills and goosebumps over his skin, even the skin covered by his leather garment was chilled to the bone. Jaime looked up in pure horror. Cersei looks back at him snidely. “What? He’s dead! I’m going to outlive that prophecy from Maggy the Frog! I’ll live forever with this! Don’t you want to be with me forever?” She then started to laugh crazily. “I will be an immortal!”

Jaime just gave her an astonished and blank stare. He felt as though he had entered a weird nightmare that he couldn’t seem to escape. He then noticed all the skin bottles around the room and looked at them suspiciously. They all have the word **“** children” on them. “Why are you drinking this, Cersei?” Jaime asked her disgusted, feeling his brain begin to pound in his skull.

“You’ve seen Ser Gregor, yes? He was clearly going to die before Qyburn intervened and saved him. I’ll have him do the same to me and I’ll be the Queen forever, we will keep father’s legacy, though not how he would have expected...” She shouted like he was the mad person in the room. She tried to kiss him with the blood still lingering on her lips and he pulled away slightly disgusted, pushing himself away from her, desperate to leave the room.

He turned and tried to leave the room, but she caught his hand, stopping him before he left. “Have it your way then, you will go invade the North; bring me back Jon Snow and Sansa Stark’s heads!” She hissed before he left the map room as fast as he could. Turning away a little hurt, she walked over to the center. Tears then threatened to fall from her eyes, but she shook her head wildly.

Qyburn entered the room not long after Jaime had taken his leave. “Your Grace,” Her hand said, wondering if now was a good time.

“Qyburn, have you made progress on what we talked about?” She asked as a smile appeared on her blood-stained lips.

“Why yes, Your Grace, we will have to use just a few more children for now, and then it should work with nary a hitch, my Queen.”

“There are several cultures that practice this art and I am studying how to make you immortal, Your Grace. Long may you reign.” Qyburn replied with a studious look, staring into her blood lusted demented golden eyes.

“Good,” Cersei said, finishing the rest of what remained of Tommen, her youngest child. _At least one man in my life is absolutely loyal to me and he wasn’t even a lion._ _I am a lion, if my brother wants to act like sheep, so be it then!_ She said in her head, taking another sip of the blood in her goblet, craving the taste of iron in her mouth; it was the only thing that calmed her. She would grasp the power to rid the world of all that defied her rule.

___________________________________________________

  
  
  


“Are you certain that it’s Grey Wind?” Jon asked with hope filling his voice, momentarily forgetting his sister’s own admission to reading letters and resealing them. Sansa shot him a look mixed with coldness and, “are you really questioning me?” Jon sighed as he folded the letter from Ashara Dayne up and pocketed it into his cloak. He stood up from what used to be his father’s chair and walked around the desk, “Mayhaps we are both wishing to hear Grey Wind whines and howls, just once more.” Jon pondered. 

“I do miss Robb and Grey Wind.” Sansa whispered, as she smiled a sad smile. Jon grabbed her hand and pulled her into his arms, “Aye, I do as well.” Jon said against her red hair. They are closer than they are before, but there is still some distance between them, where at times it feels like they are on opposite sides of the narrow sea.

She held onto him for a second longer before she pushed herself out of the comfort of his arms, “The council meeting with the Northern lords is about to start.” Sansa said once more becoming the lady that her mother had raised her to be.

Jon closed his eyes, _What happened to the girl that was happy to see me at castle black?_ _Why was she now acting like his mere presence was somehow a threat to her?_ Jon asked himself. 

“Jon!” Sansa cried, causing him to get out of his own head and blink at his little sister. Her blues narrowed on him becoming colder by the second, “Sorry Sansa, what did you say?” Jon asked her, reminding himself that he was now a king. 

“The Umbers and The Karstarks betrayed us. Their castles should be given to those who are loyal to us. To the North.” Sansa announced. Leaving Jon speechless for the first time in his life, he could only look at Sansa and wonder how she could be so cold hearted.

“Ned Umber is a ten year old boy and Alys Karstark is only sixteen years old. You of all people would ask me to cast them out of their homes, when you know what it's like to be cast out of yours?” Jon said in disgust.

“You’re right. It’s just Lord Baelish. He is always around me like a second shadow.” Sansa said, her hands began shaking. Jon stiffened at the mention of Baelish following Sansa like a shadow. His disgusted look turned to one of concern as he stepped closer to her, her blue eyes met his. “Has he taken advantage of you in any way?” Jon asked, as he tried to control the rage that wanted to come to the surface.

“Right before Baelish killed my aunt Lysa, he kissed me without my consent. He was also the one who sold me to Ramsay Bolton.” Sansa admitted, as she took a deep breath. Her blue eyes filled with a desperation that Jon hadn’t seen in her eyes since they had reunited at Castle Black. 

“You will need to learn how to use a dagger at least. Brienne and I won’t always be around to protect you.” Jon commanded, causing Sansa to look at him with wide eyes. Jon pulled out a dagger that he acquired from his time on the wall, he handed it over to Sansa. Her wide blue eyes softened as she grabbed the dagger from Jon’s hand and smiled at him.

  
  


“We are about to be late to the council meeting.” Sansa muttered as tears streamed down her cheeks. Jon shook his head,  _ His sister always the perfect lady, even when having a loving moment.  _ Jon thought to himself as he grabbed his cloak, that was hanging on the wall, that Sansa had made for him and put it on over his formal tunic. Sansa smiled as Jon held out his arm for her, she took his arm and they stepped out of what used to be their father’s solar to the grand hall.

  
  


“Dragonglass, it is black stone, obsidian and smooth. ” Jon said, taking a breath.

“Dragonglass is now our very lifeblood, and we need to find it. Then we need to prepare for the harshest winter the North has ever seen. We may just have to prepare the children to fight, My Lords.” He finished saying. The Lords start to get rowdy before Ghost starts growling and Jon puts his hand up, silencing the room and continuing. “The children will not be on the front lines, my Lords, but if we need to retreat, we will need someone to watch our backs. There are over one hundred thousand of them my lords, dead as the dignity of the Lannisters. We cannot defeat them as we are now. Steel does nothing. The only thing that saved me from a White Walker was Valyrian Steel, and there is not enough to go around. We will be well prepared, or we will perish.” Jon says, causing the Lords to murmur at the seriousness of his tone. 

“Tormund.” Jon says, making the Free Folk look up at him. “Eastwatch is the closest castle to Hardhome, we need to keep an eye out and you know the lands north of the wall better than anyone else. Take some Northmen with you so that we can start integrating the Free Folk in the North, the keeps will believe the word of their own men more than that of the Free Folk.” Jon commands. 

Tormund stands up and pounds his chest. “We are the Crows on the Wall now, lads, you hear that!” The Free Folk start cheering since they now have a place to belong to. They start sharing mugs of ale amongst each other. The Lords of the North shuffle with restlessness at that command, but the numbers of the Free Folk are nothing to trifle with. There are nearly as many of them as there are northmen, and the Boltons would still be flaying them if not for the Free Folk. 

Once Tormund sat down, the lords began murmuring. Ser Davos was the next to stand up, debating if this was a good idea.

“Yes, Ser Davos?” Jon asked, raising an eyebrow at his de facto hand. “Your Grace, you say that fire kills wights?” Everyone in the hall quieted down when they heard the Onion Knight speak; everyone knew he’d been Stannis Baratheon’s hand during the war. “Yes, I did,” the King replied. Sansa turned her blue eyes on Davos, wondering what he had to add to this conversation when he’d admitted before that he knew little about battles. Davos took a deep breath, trying to calm his fast-beating heart; the memories from the Blackwater still traumatized him from time to time.

“When Stannis tried to storm King’s Landing, Tyrion Lannister had one ship coming towards us, and as that ship got closer, it was leaking green liquid into the Blackwater,” Davos said, his hands began shaking violently, recalling the traumatic memory. “What was it?” Lyanna Mormont asked.

“Wildfire.” Davos said, in a shaky voice. The hall then turned silent. Jon looked at his advisor with sadness and reluctance. “Thank you, Ser Davos,” Jon said. Davos nodded as tears ran down his cheeks, and shook his head to work himself out of the vision of his son burning. Then Jon turned back to the Lords. “We need to find those who know how to make wildfire if we’re going to survive this war.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Manderly said, standing up. “My alchemists in White Harbor know how to make it. With your permission, we can start manufacturing it full-scale for the wars to come.” Jon pined. “You have it, my lord,” he told the first man that named him king. Lord Manderly sat down. 

“Ned Umber,” he said, and a boy, who looked to be ten-years-old stood up from sitting down. He looked frightened as he stepped forward from the other lords that shielded him from view.

“Alys Karstark,” Jon said, and a girl, who looked to be sixteen-years-old appeared, looking around, clearly wondering what was going to be the verdict. Ned and Alys stepped forward slowly, scanning the hall. Finally, taking deep breaths, they walked hesitantly until they were in front of the head table that the King in the North stood behind. They both shook with fear and fright. 

“Your houses betrayed the North, but these were not your actions. I do not hold your feet to the fire because of what your house did. I do not fancy myself Tywin Lannister, he gained respect and fear for wiping out entire houses, but yet he died on the privy!” Jon says to laughters and cheers in the Great Hall. “But the Boltons were another story…” He says with a dark look in his eye, “I ask you here and now, Karstark and Umber, will you be my bannerman? Will you answer the call of the North as your families have done since the Kings of Winter?” Jon said, giving them a chance to prove themselves to everyone else in the Great Hall. 

Ned and Alys pulled their swords out from their sheaths, bending their knees in front of the table that their king stood behind, besides Davos and Sansa, their swords were drawn in front. “Stand,” Jon calmly ordered. Ned and Alys stood up and looked at their king, still somewhat frightened. 

“You will protect the North, every man woman and child, get your houses in order, and get ready to retreat should the dead make it past the Wall. Now, I call upon you all to prepare, every flaming arrow, every pitch of oil, every keg of ale, and grain of rice. Winter is Coming!” Everyone in the Great Hall cheered, slamming their goblets down on the tables in front of them. Even Sansa sports a sly little smirk.

Jon smiled at Ned and Alys; they nodded back at their king, feeling relief and happiness, knowing they wouldn’t be forced away from their homes. “I received a letter from Aurane Waters and his nephew Monterys Velaryon of their desire to help us against Cersei Lannister and the Night King. They have three hundred ships that Aurane Waters stole from Cersei Lannister.” Jon announced causing the northern lords to quiet down as they looked at their king in shock. 

“What about their oath to the Lord of Dragonstone?” Lord Glover asked, with a raised eyebrow. Sanas narrowed her blue eyes on lord Glover wondering if he was that out of touch with the rest of the world.

“The last Lord of Dragonstone was Stannis Baratheon and he died outside these gates on a failed mission to get the North on his side.” Ser Davos said with a shake of his head. Lord Glover turned red as he sat back down on his chair and drank some of the northern wine in his mug. “I received one last letter from the island of Skagos. They have been hiding a wildling woman by the name of Osha and my little brother Rickon. We need to find out exactly where, before we make our move. Those lands are treacherous.” Jon said, as he threw down the letter on the table in front of him.

  
  


Jon, during this council meeting didn’t miss the way the Lords were still looking at him as the Batard of Winterfell, before he got the Karstarks and Umbers on his side. What he did miss though, wass the sound of other direwolves howling along with Ghost.

The Lords proceed to file out, leaving Ser Davos, Sansa and Jon to talk to each other, then they look up and notice a smaller Northern Lord still sitting at the table, unaccompanied, and staring at Jon. Jon supposes that he’ll have to get used to it, being stared at, and not with disdain. 

“Your Grace, I have waited so very long to see you...again…” The man says.

“I’m sorry, My Lord? I do not recall you or your name.” Jon says.

“I am Howland Reed. A long time friend of Ned Stark. I want to tell you some of the answers for many questions you may have. I know you must have lots of questions. Will you accompany me to the Godswood, Your Grace. I must say what I need to say before the Heart Tree…” Howland says to Jon. 

Jon nods and accompanies the strange little crannogman to the Heart Tree, unsure of what he has to say, but determined to listen to every man of the North, just as Lord Stark had taught him. 

________________________________________________________

  
  


“Why would you send him to the wall?” Rhaegar asked his good brother, all the while trying to calm down his wife. Lyanna is about ready to slit Eddard Stark’s throat, and Rhaegar is holding her back. Ned sighed as he rubbed his hands together and took a long sip of the water Rhaegar had melted for him. Ned handed Rhaegar the stone, as he looked into the questioning grey eyes of his little sister.

“Catelyn didn’t like having Jon around and he seemed to want to join. I thought he would be safe from the politics and the war, I realize now that all of the choices I made were the wrong ones. Furthermore, I did not send him there, he asked to go. I simply did not stop him.” Ned said, with a dark look passing through his own grey eyes. The direwolf dagger that Lyanna had been twirling around in her hands suddenly dropped to the frozen tundra underneath them. Anger crossed over Lyanna’s face, the kind of anger that any man should dread to behold.

“But you couldn’t be bothered to tell him that he wasn’t a bastard. You even changed his name to Jon Snow, and he doesn’t even know his name. I do respect that you kept him alive, but I suspect it was only for your own comfort. Why not tell him the truth? Robert was your friend right?” Lyanna says softly, and she can see that Ned’s expression is breaking with every word.

“What happened Ned? What are you not telling me?” Lyanna asked, with concern filling her grey eyes. Tears of anguish fell down his pale cheeks as he thought of Robert, Cersei, Jaime, and Tywin Lannister. 

“I should have listened to you about Robert, Lya, he was nothing but a drunken whoremonger. Cersei had an incestuous relationship that has broken the seven kingdoms in ways, I fear we won’t be able to come back from. In some ways, Robert was worse than the Mad King, whom we rebelled against.” Ned said, as he wiped the tears from his cheeks. Rhaegar raked one of his hands through his silver hair as he pondered everything that Ned was saying. Rhaegar opened his mouth to say something only to have Lady howl loudly into the night. Ned chuckled as his good brother turned his indigo eyes on the small direwolf and glared at her as she continued to howl.

  
  


To their shock an answering loud howl followed shortly after Lady had settled down from howling. Ned turned his head to the side so he could get a better listen to the howl that sounded so familiar, but he just couldn’t put the right name to the direwolf. “Grey Wind.” Ned muttered under his breath. “Who is Grey Wind?” Lyanna asked with a raised eyebrow and a look of confusion entering her grey eyes.

“Lady, Grey Wind, Ghost, Nymeria, Summer, and Shaggydog are direwolves that your son, and my five children acquired many years ago. Ironically in these same woods, we found their parents had been slain and they were just pups. Each of the children decided to raise one as their own.” Ned explained, Lya’s grey eyes widened in understanding. _ For no direwolves had been seen south of the wall in over two hundred years! _ Ned thought to himself. Rhaegar narrowed his indigo eyes muttering something in high valyrian, making it impossible for either of them to understand him.

Grey Wind jumps out at them from the bushes and charges at Lady, knocking her to the ground playfully and they start yipping at each other. Then Robb and the shockingly familiar face of Brandon walk out of the woods, and he notices the pain Robb is carrying at the same time. Shocking Ned into silence. Robb comes running forth and embraces his father, both of them shocked to see each other.

_Ned realizes the history of the moment and goes to his long gone brother._ His older brother is currently staring at Rhaegar as if he wants to kill him, and he probably does. Brandon pulls his sword out, his usual favorite activity, and starts to encroach upon Rhaegar. A quick swing from Lyanna nearly disarms him, but Brandon drops the sword once he looks upon Lyanna’s face, stubborn as always. “Lyanna…” Brandon says, placing the back of his hand on her face and rubbing her to make sure she is real. 

“An unfortunate set of circumstances has befallen us…” Rhaegar says to the group of Starks. “You have the right of it.” Ned replies. Brandon and Lyanna are whispering to each other, making unclear whether they heard anything at all. 

“Who is running Winterfell if we are all here?” Ned asks no one in particular.

Robb pales and almost drops to his knees on the frozen ground at the mention of Winterfell and remembering who had killed him, the sting of defeat still tugs at him, even more so that he didn’t even lose a battle.  _ I hope that Roose Bolton didn’t get his hands on Winterfell after betraying my wife, my mother, and I. If he did, I shall kill him myself, _ Robb thinks to himself, while looking down at his hands, unable to think clearly, but knowing that he needs some way to take care of this little one.

“I hope to the Old Gods and the New that it’s Jon, Lord Father.” Robb replies. “I named him my heir, once Sansa married Tyrion Lannister. I had to make sure that Tywin could put no claim on Winterfell.” Grey Wind howled when Robb finished his statement, and another howl seemed to come from Winterfell. 

Rhaegar, Lyanna, and Ned’s eyes light up at the mention of Jon. 

“We cannot show our faces just yet in Winterfell, but we need to go there all the same. Perhaps we should sneak into the crypts and try to get word to Jon. I have the sense that the world is not as we left it. I would very much like to find out where we fit in in all of this.” Ned says to the nodding Brandon, Lyanna, Rhaegar and Robb. The yellow eyes of the direwolves staring at them and they turn their heads on the side as if they understand, as Ned realizes they always did seem to know things that others wouldn’t understand.  _ Perhaps that’s why we have a direwolf as a sigil, _ Ned thinks to himself. Rhaegar, melancholic as usual, seems to get a light in his violet eyes. 

“I can tell you who brought us back, though for what purpose I can’t tell you that.” Rhaegar said, causing Lyanna to look at her husband over Brandon’s shoulder. “The children of the forest and the old gods.” Rhaegar answered, causing Robb to roll his blue eyes in disbelief. Lyanna pulled herself out of Brandon’s arms, her grey eyes widened as she began to shake her head back and forth. “No.” Lya said in sad and desperate voice,

Rhaegar grabbed Lya’s hands and nodded his head, “Jon, or Aegon is the prince that was promised and that is the reason why we are here. We shall do what we must to help him.” Rhaegar said, looking into Lya’s pleading grey eyes.

  
  
  


_________________________________________________________

  
  


Edd, the new Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch doesn’t sleep well. Everytime he closes his eyes, he sees blue eyes. Frosty blue eyes, that are accompanied by death and a putrid smell that fouls up everything in its vicinity. He was almost one of them, that’s the real reason why he doesn’t sleep well. 

Dolorous Edd still remembers Hardhome like it was just yesterday…

Jon Snow stands in front of the Wildling Council and lectures them about their survival. 

“What’s it to ya Crow? We are not going to trust you with our lives.” Karsi says.

The rest of the Wildlings nod and agree. Then the Magnar of the Thenns speaks up.

“Where is Mance? I might listen to ya if Mance was here, but where did he go?” 

“He’s dead.” Jon says. 

“Stannis killed him, burned him alive.” Tormund says. The Wildlings start murmuring and shouting at each other. The Night's Watch members are silent, hands on their weapons, at the ready for battle. So are all the Wildlings, and there are many more of them.

_ This is hopeless _ ...Edd thinks to himself.

Jon rubs his hand on his face in frustration. “Do you want to live, or not?” Jon asks the Wildlings. “They are coming for you, and if you stay here then you are just lumps of meat for them to turn, wouldn’t you rather die with blood pumping in your veins, you fools?” Jon says to no reply.

Now Jon Snow takes out a satchel of Dragonglass weapons. “What are we supposed to do with that?” A Wildling asks Jon. “It kills the dead.” He replies. They all huff in disbelief. 

“There are ships docked on the water, get in them or not, I offered my hand. Mance was a good man, and he wanted to save his people, I can only extend my hand out to you stubborn fools. It’s up to you to take it.” Jon says and walks out of the tent. 

“It’s the only chance we have.” Tormund says to them, making the Wildlings reconsider. 

Edd leaves them as well, with the few brothers that came with them on his side. 

Dogs start barking.

It now feels colder than it was when he first got here, but maybe that’s just his sour mood talking. He is Dolorous Edd after all. He may just be hallucinating, but his teeth are chattering cold now. 

_ What the hells is going on? _

Edd walks over to Jon and he’s as silent as ever, but Ghost is attuned, looking off in the distance with wonder. Oddly enough, Jon is giving off heat like a warm bath. “It’s that time.” Jon says, and the Lord Commander's eyes flash a bright orange like the flame of a hearth, and he swears he’s not cold anymore. A cloud of frost and fog blows towards them, with a rumble and crack of the ice. Now Edd knows that they are all dead if they don’t stop bickering. “Here they come.” Jon touts in an unfamiliar tone. Hoards of Wildings now start running towards the gates of Hardhome. A thunderous boom is heard in the distance, and screaming and wailing is heard from very far. Now all the swords and axes in the area are out and ready. 

_ If we are to die, we die as men, as humans. _

The gate slowly closes when a Wilding gives the order. Screaming Wildlings run through the gate now while it’s closing, creaking and splentering, and then coming to a close with a deep thud. The screams continue for a while, with a horrible screech, and what sounds like tears and splatters. Now everything goes silent...silent as death. It’s a heart-wrenching silence, and Edd has to wonder if he’s next. He wants to say over his dead body, but that’s exactly the point. 

“I’d like to avoid death, if at all possible.” He says to Jon.

“Grab the satchel of Dragonglass. Give it to the black brothers and stay by my side.”

He does so, examining the weapons for sturdiness, and the Wildlings just leave the rest of the weapons sitting there. 

When he comes back he hears banging on the gate, and a rustling stampede of bodies. Now Jon starts speaking in a language that he doesn’t quite understand, and Ghost tags along with him. 

Standing next to Jon he feels actual heat, enough to make a man sweat and it’s frosty cold in the North. If they weren’t about to all die, he’d have to ask questions about that, but now isn’t the time to be wondering why he’s not cold.

Hands start reaching through the gate, and a volley of arrows fly past the gate to stop the army of the dead from breaking down the wooden barrier. It doesn’t even seem to stop the army a little. 

The Wooden doors of the gates start creaking and breaking, chunks of wood breaking off as the large doors start breaking down. His heart bursts at the same time the gates do, with the clacking of teeth and the bones cracking now filling his ears as they retreat. 

_ Retreat _ , he said in his mind and his body followed, his feet taking him back. Edd stops and so do the other brothers with him, but then he holds his ground. 

“Form a line.” Jon says, but there are so many of them. The wildings start lining up beside them and they start to form a cohesive unit for just a moment. Jon is with them slicing dead men effortlessly, and it takes the rest of them a little more time to kill their targets. For now, they seem to be holding their ground, and Ghost chews up and spits out everything that Jon misses. 

Jon now feels like a flame beside him, and he can’t say that he minds, but suddenly the cold washes over him and he sees Jon running into the crowd of dead men like a madman. 

Before he can shout to his Lord Commander, Jon starts raining all the seven hells on the dead men, swinging Longclaw faster than he ever saw him swing on a sparring ground. Jon still spouts the same stuff he was saying before, in an odd language that he’s never heard before, but it must be working because the dead are being beaten back, repelled like the Wildlings were when they attacked the Wall that one night. 

_ What has gotten into Jon? _

Before he can think, Tormund comes and grabs him, “Come on Crow, King Crow is buying us time to get the hell out of here. Come on!” Snapping him back to reality.

He looks back and sees Jon fighting like a man possessed, cutting down wights like they were ham slices, and not falling back at all, Ghost watching his back. 

“I’m staying, Tormund. Get your people to the ships.” He says as Tormund sighs and huffs, then walks away. A few dead men get past Jon and the dragonglass kills them quickly, and without issues. 

The dead men start working their way around Jon, seemingly afraid to face him, but when they part and converge on the evacuees then the black brothers put their dragonglass to the test. Truly there are but a few fighters, and they are not doing as good of a job as Jon was, but the Wildlings are there, right beside them. The rough men and women of Hardhome start holding their own with a few of them getting overtaken, but the battle is nearly even, neither side giving way. 

Edd was wondering why they started parting, but his question is answered when the blistering cold winds blow his way, making his face hurt and his neck painful with the cold air. Even worse, it makes him want to give up and go back to the ship, but he’ll not abandon his duty. A single figure, blue light surrounding it, walks slowly forth, uncaring of any of the other men there, nor the hoards of dead men that are dying left and right. It’s a damned White Walker.

_ If only we had Sam the Slayer back here, _ Edd things to himself.

The Walker only has eyes for Jon, and the dead men all pause, as they are subservient to this Walker apparently. “Go.” Jon says, still in a strange voice, and the rest of them are loaded on a small boat, and every one that can escape has already or they are doomed. The Giant, Wun-Wun is swinging logs at the dead men, clearing a path for any more Wildlings to escape. The army of the dead starts to encroach on Jon ensuring that it will not be a fair fight but he quickly attacks the Walker, still fighting like a mad man. He swings and misses the Walker, but still cuts straight through the rotting bodies of the dead that try to swarm him. As if by telepathy, the dead men just sit there and watch, and there is a frosty storm at the top of the cliffs, and Jon points his sword at the top of the cliffs, partly making the storm give way, and the dead horses on the cliffs are the first thing that shows through the storm clouds, and then the dread fills the area even more than before when he sees the ice clad walkers, mounted on dead horses, bones and flesh showing through their skins. 

Edd shivers with fear. The Walker rushes down Jon and tries to stab him through, but Jon moves faster than he has seen even Ghost move and evades quickly as the Lord Commander returns the favor and slices through the Walker, shattering the ice creature into nothing but ice shards. Now Jon points back to the Night King and the dead army starts rushing him now, filling up the area with a swarm of bodies, and now Jon runs back towards the last boat at near breakneck speed. Jon Snow stops running as he’s rushed down by a hoard, stampeding towards him trying to tear his flesh from his body and they are all shocked by what they see. 

Jon just pulls his sword out and holds it upwards, pointing towards the Night King, the blade seems to glow somehow and it brings forth some sort of light that blinds them all, orange and bright like sunlight, accompanied by heat. The dead men start exploding one by one and anything that gets close to the light coming from Jon is turned into bones and ash and dust. Then he sheaths his sword, and the light goes away, allowing the dead men to advance on the Lord Commander.

Jon runs for the boat with the full army in tow behind him. They let the boat go towards the sea so the dead don’t catch up to them, and the Lord Commander comes running and jumps in the boat as it sails away from them, still some of the dead men jump in the sea, trying to get after Jon presumably. They all sink to the bottom of the sea, and the light goes out of their haunting blue eyes. Jon lands in the boat with a thud and Ghost licks his face after sniffing him.

“Nissa…” Jon mutters out in his unconscious state.

“We always wondered with the skin changers, whether the man wears the beast, or the beast wears the man. I think we just answered that question, Crow.” Tormund says.

After a while, Jon comes to, looking at them with wonder. “Thanks for saving me, brothers, which one of you was it?” Jon asks them. They all just stare at each other, as the waves of the sea coax them into a quiet mood. They sail towards the Wall, unsure of who is going to tell Jon what he just did. 

_ Why does he not remember? _

Bran’s eyes were warging white before he returned to his conscious state. Next, he looks around at the Children of the Forest and Meera. Then his gaze turns to the gaunt and frail body of Brynden Rivers, looking as if he could die at any moment, after being separated from the Great Weirwood. Looking up, he saw that the levied chain machinery was steadily lifting Castle Black’s outer gate, and as this happened, he noticed that the men manning the Wall had their weapons at the ready.  _ It won’t matter much if they aren’t dragonglass. Good thing we aren’t dead men. _ Once the gate was raised entirely, he saw the new Lord Commander emerge from the hollow ice tunnel to meet them; the man was accompanied by his fellow brothers behind him, all in black, imposing and not at all happy to see them.  _ Eddison Tollett,  _ he thought.  _ The one called “Dolorous Edd.” I’m certain he hates being Lord Commander. _

“Are you wildlings?” Edd asked warily, and not at all enthused. “Meera Reed, my Lord, daughter of Howland Reed, and this is Brandon Stark, son of Ned Stark, we have others...with us...” Meera said; she was freezing and beyond exhausted, but nonetheless, she held a steady gaze with the new Lord Commander, who still looked unsure. “How do I know that you’re telling the truth?” Bran lifted his head and gave Edd an odd stare, like he saw through him. 

“You were at the Fist of the First Men, you were at Hardhome, when the dead overran you. You’ve seen the Night King, for yourself. You’ve seen Jon come back, and you said ‘your eyes are still brown,’ and ‘is that really still you in there?’ Even if we were Wildlings, you would rather that than us being blue-eyed dead men...” Bran blabbed; Eddison’s face turned red; the brothers behind him began looking between the two of them. 

“How can you know this?” Edd snapped whilst he continued to stare at the crippled boy on the wooden sled. The Lord Commander didn’t really know what to think at the moment but granting them passage seemed to be the right thing to do. Finally Edd decided that he didn’t actually want to know, nor did he want to know what the Children of the Forest were doing crossing the wall. 

Bran looks at Edd with a knowing look in his eyes. “We are going to help Jon, when the time comes. You don’t have enough men Edd, you will want to retreat South to Winterfell when they come…” He says as the Lord Commander gulps and a fearful expression washes over Edd’s face.

Sighing, Dolorous Edd looked at his men. “Ay, come on, let’s get them inside.”

________________________________________________________

“Your Grace, my little birds in Kings Landing have begun singing again, and the songs they are singing are disturbing, very disturbing songs of Cersei and the North.” Varys began once fully entering the room.

Varys stiffened once he saw that Barristan was seated in the chair next to Daenerys, this caused Daenerys to raise an eyebrow.  _ The spider is never surprised! Could it be that whatever information he has, he doesn't want Barristan to hear?  _ Daenerys asked herself.

He stood in front of the chair that Barristan sat in. Ser Barristan raised an eyebrow at Varys and his suspicious activity. But, his face was once more unreadable, per usual. 

Tyrion quickly followed, unfortunately carrying a goblet full of Arbor Gold. While the man’s advice served to be valuable, his drinking was often excessive, leading to her having to wait until he sobered up to get verification on his words the previous evenings.

Raising an eyebrow to Tyrion in question, she knew that none of her ship’s cargo held any lavish wines that would get him easily drunk.

“I made such an amazing discovery while exploring this castle. It must have been Stannis Baratheon’s personal stash since it was found close to where we believe his old chambers were, and well, such an amazing find and since he won’t be needing it anymore, I decided to liberate the many caskets. I will give him this, he did have great taste in wines.” Raising his full goblet in the air, he gave a mock salute to the late king.

Tyrion pulled the chair out that was next to Daenerys and sat down. “Tyrion, you haven’t touched wine since we left Mereen. What’s bothering you?” Dany asked, completely ignoring all else around her. Varys looked down at his friend with a look of concern in his dark eyes, once he realized that what Daenerys said was true.

“One of the allies Varys brought to us, murdered my niece Myrcella Baratheon,” Tyrion said, looking at the wine inside his goblet. Dany’s eyes widened; she glanced over at Varys.  _ Did the spider know before or after gaining the Sand Snakes?  _ she wondered. Dany’s eyes then narrowed on Varys; he glanced worriedly between her and her hand. 

“You did what?” Barristan asked through gritted teeth, as he looked up at Varys with anger present in his eyes. Varys turned his gaze away from Tyrion and glanced at Barristan, “I understand your hesitation. But as I told Tyrion and now you, we need Dorne on our side. So, can we please get on with more pressing matters?” Varys asked in a serious tone. Tyrion glanced away from the contents of his goblet to glare at his friend. 

“Fine,” Tyrion said in the coldest tune that no one had ever heard in his voice before. Dany felt goosebumps rise on her exposed gorgeous milky flesh of her arms at the pure coldness in his voice. Barristan nodded his head, though narrowed his eyes on Varys letting him know that he didn’t approve of his methods.

“My birds in King’s Landing sing a song of Cersei Lannister, the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms has ordered her entire army to march on the North,” Varys said; Tyrion choked on the wine he had just drank.

“Isn’t the North preparing for winter?” Dany asked, leaning forward in her chair as she scanned the painted table, seeing where the north was located; she shook her head once her statement proved right.

“Yes, which is very concerning,” Varys said before Dany burst out laughing. Tyrion glanced over the rim of his goblet at his queen, a grin appearing on his lips.

“Well, at least this proves that I’m more sane than Cersei.” Dany joked before Varys rolled his eyes. 

“I have more troubling matters from King’s Landing, my queen. I know how you feel about the massacre of innocents, especially children.” Varys said, looking at Dany with a wary expression on his face. Tyrion stopped chuckling; he looked at Varys with a concerned look entering his green eyes.

“I believe I am ready to hear whatever it is,” Dany said; her violet eyes began to darken. She took a deep breath trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever Varys had to say. “Cersei had gone even madder than we have thought, she is drinking orphan children’s blood,” he revealed; he stepped back from the table right before Dany’s beautiful face became tearful.

“Why?” Dany asked; her violet eyes filling up with tears. The memories of the crucified slave children along the road to Mereen came back to haunt her mind.

“Cersei and Qyburn believe that if she drinks the blood of innocent children, she will become an immortal lion,” Varys revealed; Greyworm tightened his grip on the spear he was holding to the point that his knuckles turned white.

“She dies tonight with fire and blood. I will not stand for this. No one that does this deserves the Red Keep, she must burn.” Daenerys hissed before she got up from her chair suddenly. Knocking the goblet of wine that Tyrion had filled for her in her haste to get going, his green eyes followed the liquid as it poured to the grey floor.“It should be a crime to waste such a perfect drink,” Tyrion said; he finally looked away from the floor.

Tyrion looked at Dany, processing what Varys had said through his mind; he shook his head in disbelief. Dany huffed when she saw that her hand wanted to say something. _ If what Varys says is true about her killing and drinking the blood of innocent children, then she will pay with fire and blood,  _ she thought, taking a long deep breath, preparing herself for whatever Tyrion had to say.

Varys took another step back and crossed his arms; he watched Dany and Tyrion intently.“What is it, Tyrion; do you have something to say?” She asked, interest blooming in her violet eyes. Tyrion sank down in his chair in relief once he realized his queen was going to actually listen.

“It’s Cersei, I don’t think we should try to do anything drastic towards her, your cause is a worthy one, but you would turn the people against you, Your Grace.” Tyrion said, twirling a finger in his goblet, it was like he was trying to decide if he would drink it or not.

"What are you saying? Have you forgotten that she has a price on your head, even more so that you are my Hand. If half the things that Varys says are true then she needs to be put down.” Dany said; her eyebrow raised. 

“That’s just it, Your Grace, she is a tyrant. But, if you use your dragons to storm Kings Landing then the wheel you want to break will continue on spinning. The people of Westeros don’t exactly welcome Fire and Blood with open arms.” Tyrion said as he placed his golden goblet down on the table in front of him. His green eyes locked with her violet eyes, Dany sighed sitting back down in the chair she had just vacated. 

“I will not attack King's Landing, until we have met with Lady Olenna and Princess Arianne. However, Varys I would like for you to find trustworthy spies to observe Cersei and this Qyburn.” Daenerys replies, as Varys bows his head. 

“It shall be done as you command your grace.” Varys said, with a pleased look gleaming in his dark eyes. Tyrion glared at his friend as he grabbed his golden goblet off the table and took another sip of his wine. 

“I have also received a letter from Aurane Waters known as the bastard of Driftmark. He warns that Cersei has learned of Lady Olenna’s betrayal and plans to send an army to attack her and gain the food that Highgarden possesses.” Varys replied, causing Barristan to rub his chin furiously. 

“Grey Worm, do you believe that Hero would be able to lead three thousand of the Unsullied to Highgarden?” Barristan asks, causing Varys to raise an eyebrow at Ser Barristan. Grey Worm nodded his head, “Yes Selmy.” Grey Worm said. He turned to look at Red Flea who was standing guard at the entrance of the Painted Table chamber. Grey Worm gave some commands in high Valyrian, as Red Flea bowed and walked into the hallway. 

“Wait,” Daenerys says, causing all of them to pause. “Take the three thousand men to Highgarden and scout for us, take the measure of the castle, plan out each entry and exit route, and find a way to move safely and quickly, if the time should come to do so. I need to get to know this land, if I am to call it home one day.”

Grey Worm and Red Flea immediately nod, “right away, My Queen.” 

Tyrion got up from the table once everything else had been discussed, he walked away with a satisfied grin.  _ Maybe Daenerys is beginning to listen to me after all! _ Tyrion thought to himself as he carried the glass of expensive wine out of the chamber and walked towards his rooms.

__ Dany studied the carved map on Aegon’s Painted Table a bit longer, seeing each piece and region.  _ If I wish to rule over the seven kingdoms I must study each of the differences that make up these kingdoms.  _ Daenerys thinks to herself as she places the pieces back down on Aegon’s Painted Table.

Quaithe steps out of the shadows and silently moves closer to Daenerys. “Do not be hasty, your impatience will lead you to ruin if not calmed, Daenerys. You need to know your enemy, and this one will be worse than what you have encountered before. Strong you are, but power is only as great as the one who wields it.” She replies. 

Quaithe runs her hand along the edges of Aegon’s painted table, “Perhaps you ought to show your power. Send ravens all over Westeros denouncing the false lion queen’s behavior and the treatment they showed your family, slaughtering the children of Rhaegar at Tywin Lannister’s hand. Show her that a dragon is not to be taken lightly.” Quaithe explained, her dark eyes met Daenerys’ violet ones.

“Taking away her security can be risky.” Daenerys replies, as Quaithe raises a dark eyebrow at her once foster daughter. “Then she will make mistakes and make it easier for us to take the Iron Throne from her.” Quaithe said. Meraxes jumped onto Aegon’s painted table, scattering the figurines of Lions and Krakens, as if showing them the future of the seven kingdoms.   
  


_______________________________________________________________

The Twins is filled with the sound of gurgling men collapsing and falling all over the dark stone floors of the old castle. Women are gasping, trembling with fear as Arya walks towards them. 

Off in the distance there is a pack of wolves howling.

“Is there anyone in the dungeons?” Arya asks no one in particular. A young girl looks up as if she has something to say. 

“Lord Edmure Tully, Lord Greatjon Umber, and Olyvar Frey…” the girl says stammering in between sobs.

The light returns to Arya’s grey eyes and she trudges slowly and silently down to the dungeons without even looking back at the destruction that she has wrought. 

Darkness fills the dungeons, it looks as bleak and empty as her heart, but she lights a torch and hopes that it might light the fires of her emotions. 

“Who’s there?” A voice says, hoarsely. Weak voices start murmuring and she can tell that they are weak and malnourished. 

Arya grabs her tools and picks the locks on all the cells in the dungeons. Even though they can see the torch she was holding, she hasn’t revealed her face nor has she made a sound. After picking the locks she opens the cages stealthily, and they creak open before clanging on the iron bars of the cells. 

“Who...is...there…?” Another voice calls. 

“Winter.” Arya replies.

“The last King of Winter was killed in this very castle...there is no escaping the Freys…” A louder, more profound voice says. 

“Winter just came for House Frey…” She says, in nearly a whisper, but the dungeons are nearly as quiet as death so Arya is certain that they heard her. 

A wolf howls in a strangely familiar tone. It makes her feel alive.

“Winter...Came…? Just who are you?” A booming voice that could only be the Greatjon says. 

“Who I am is not important, but getting out of this castle is. There are no more Freys to stop us from leaving. I suggest we leave now, before the Lannisters find out.” Arya tells the group.

“What did you say?” Another voice says. 

“I said all of the Freys are dead.” Arya announces.

“I am Olyvar Frey…” Olyvar says. She quickly pulls a knife out and begins to jab it into Olyvar’s throat. Realization dawns on her before she presses the knife into this still living Frey’s throat, and she stops still holding the edge against his skin.

“Why are you in the dungeons?” Arya asks Olyvar.

“He wouldn’t stand for what Old Walder did and they locked him in here.” Her uncle Edmure says. 

“Well, congratulations Olyvar, you are now the Lord of the Twins.” Arya says sardonically.

Olyvar starts stuttering over his words. 

“You are now vassals of House Stark, for all time, if a Stark needs to cross at the Twins, you will let him. With no toll and no delay. Do you agree to these terms Olyvar Frey?” Arya says, holding the torch closer to Olyvar so as to study his face. 

“I-I-I...Agree to your terms…” Olyvar says.

“Good. Now let’s go and make our way out of this castle. The Wolves of the North have returned to Westeros, and no one will stop winter from coming.” Arya says.

Wolves continue howling all over the Riverlands. Most of them to the North, and suddenly Arya gets an inclination to go North.

  
  
  


________________________________________________

  
  


Ashara sighed as she looked at the growing pile of endless documents that begged for her attention. She threw her quill down on the desk in frustration, she placed her fingers to temples as a headache began to throb against her skull. 

“Maybe it's time for our nephew to take on the responsibility of these documents?” Arthur asked from the corner of the solar that had once belonged their older brother Alaric and their father before him. Ashara glanced away from the documents and looked up into Arthur’s concerned dark blue eyes. “

“Arthur is right Ashara. He is of age and it's time for him to start acting the lord of this castle.” Allyria replied, from the other side of the desk. Her own violet eyes shined with the same frustration that Ashara was feeling.

“You're both right of course.” Ashara said sadly.  _ Edric was like Alaric in some way but in others he was like his mother. Now that he was back from galavanting around with the brotherhood without banners and leaving them with the responsibility of Starfall. I have still been thinking of him as a boy, when he was now clearly a man. It was time for him to step up and take on Starfall. _ Ashara thought to herself, though her headache seemed to get worse by the second. 

“Good, I shall bring Edric in here to finish these documents with Maester Bennifer.” Allyria said joyously as she walked briskly out of the solar. Arthur shook his head in amusement at their little sister, “I never thought she would find joy in handing over the reigns of Starfall.” Arthur said in both amusement and disbelief. 

“I didn’t think so either.” Ashara stated with amusement as she turned to look at Arthur. His dark blue eyes shone with both happiness and a sense that something was about to happen that would change their lives forever.

“Princess Arianne’s banners are flying.” Maester Bennifer replied, clearly out of breath. His grey eyes were round with wonder, at the princess of Dorne visiting them.

“It’s time.” Arthur said, almost sounding disbelieving.

“Then we must receive them, for there is more that we must do.” Ashara reponsed back sternly as Arthur sighed and nodded his head in understanding. 

Princess Arianne walks into Starfall, looking elegant and vibrant, although solemn and stern. The sand snakes are with her, but they are not at her side.  _ Something must have happened. _

Arianne hands her an opened letter and tells her, “My apologies, I did not know who I could trust, but this is for you from the North.” 

She immediately reads it when she sees the lizard-lion seal of Greywater Watch.

It reads:

**Even nameless, a dragon will still learn to fly. If a crown is your right, then a crown you shall attain. To run or burn, love or take flight? Such is the burden of a dragon.**

**Howland Reed of Greywater Watch.**

She hands the letter to Ser Arthur and he reads it several times before a look of recognition and happiness paints her brother’s face. He holds the letter close to his heart. Arianne looks at them curiously, and quirks a brow at them trying to gauge their expressions. 

“What does it mean?” Arianne asks as she looks at them quizzically. Arianne’s dark eyes narrowed as she waited for either Ashara or Arthur to speak and share what news this Howland Reed had. “It means that it’s time to make our move.” Ashara says with great pride. 

Arianne smirks and nods her head as she folded up the letter that Howland Reed had sent them. Arthur, Allyria, and Edric nodded as they understood what this all meant for the seven kingdoms but even more so for their family.  _ It’s time that the dragons return. _

__________________________________________________________________

  
  
  


Not for the first time, Howland Reed stands in the Godswood of Winterfell. The heart tree has a stern face as always, and Howland looks for any familiarity in the face, but finds none. 

“I saw you, in the Godswood of Winterfell, father. You were speaking with a King, or a Wolf, or a Dragon. Somehow I saw all three, speaking to you. I’ll be there with you, but I can’t see myself, I’m just there, as if I’m watching you...” Jojen said to him before leaving. The implications left Howland speechless, and he knows that his son speaks true, as always. 

The crannogmen have always been closer to the children of the forest, so it would only make sense for one of his children to know more than most men. Jojen was always a bit different.

It’s a difficult thing, sharing a secret that’s been buried for so long that it seems nearly impossible to find the words. 

_ How do you tell someone that they aren’t who they have been told they are? _

“Some things have changed, Father.” The face of the Heart Tree says to Howland. Anyone else would be surprised, but Howland just smiles. Jojen’s life is now in the Heart Trees, and Howland isn’t so sure that it wasn’t before he left. Jojen could always see...more than just sight, but the things that no one could or should see. 

“You said you’d be here, didn’t you?” Howland says to Jojen, through the Heart Tree. 

“I’ll help you through the meeting Father…” Jojen says. 

Jon and Howland now stand together in the present, both facing the Godwood, and the crannogmen just stares at the tree as if he hopes to see some sign from the old gods. 

“Lady Ashara Dayne is alive and well. I know you were wondering how to reach her, and I sent her word, that you know, and you shall meet them soon.” Howland says. 

Jon looks over at him shocked, and nods wordlessly.  _ I wonder if she knows _ …Jon thinks to himself.

“Most men would be surprised to hear it, Your Grace. But you took it with stride. I suppose after seeing the dead men, not much will surprise you.” Howland says to Jon, surprising him once more.

“How…?” Jon starts to say before Howland told you.

“My son, Jojen, was with Bran. Before….” Howland says and then stops with sadness.

Howland continues, “He may be dead, Your Grace.”

“I’m sorry, My Lord.”

“He told me that he saw snow on the wrong side of the wall, and that death would pass through the snow. I now know what he meant.” Howland explains.

“So it did, so it did. What did you mean by ‘them,’ My Lord?”

“I…” Howland says, and while Jon listens intently he could swear he heard the tree whisper. Jon couldn’t make out the words, but he heard a whisper, but who could he tell without sounding like a mad man?

“The answer to your question will be in the crypts, Your Grace. Follow Grey Wind’s call and you’ll find the answer to that question, as well as the answer to every question you’ve ever had.” Howland says to Jon.

Jon searches his face for deception and finds none, so then he nods and leaves Howland staring at the Godswood. 

“One last thing, Your Grace.” Howlands says as Jon looks on intently. “Answers often beget more questions, there are some questions you wish you never knew the answer to as well…But I’ll tell you like I told my son, one of the more important questions you will ever ask and answer is: Who are you?” 

Jon walks away now, leaving Howland still standing in the Godswood, looking intently at the Heart Tree still. 

“Good job father. Meera will be here soon, along with Bran, you will accompany the King to the crypts after a short time and there you find old friends and new. You did right, Lord Howland Reed.” The Heart tree whispers out to him, and then starts creaking until the face of the Heart Tree no longer moves and the presence that Howland felt is gone for the time being. 

Lord Reed hopes that it’s not the last time he’ll talk to his son, but Jojen did tell him that the tree would whisper to him, and then whisper no more...

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another chapter. Thanks for the comments and kind words. The world is a little upside down, but at least we can share some decent ideas, I say.

A cool breeze in the Water Gardens of Dorne blows and adds a rustling of branches and trees to the gentle streams of water. The sun is blazing, though not as hot as usual, and Arianne is in a mood, tapping her fingers impatiently on the makeshift throne of her father making everyone nervous. She has always been a bit unpredictable. 

“If you want to earn my forgiveness and that of your father for killing my brother, I expect you, Obara and Nymeria, to give the head of Ellaria Sand to Cersei Lannister and see what she plans on doing with the rest of the seven kingdoms. Am I clear?”Arianne asked, with a threatening tone in her voice and a questioning quirk of her eyebrow. Obara’s dark eyes filled with both guilt and shame as she hung her head low.

“Yes princess.” Obara responded, taking the box that contained the head of Ellaria Sand from her cousin. Nymeria hung her head low in shame with the knowledge that her father would have been angry with them for killing not just his son and his brother but also Myrcella Lannister.

Out of the corner of Arianne’s eye she could see both Arthur and Ashara Dayne’s eyes widened at the reveal of both Doran’s death but also the death of Ellaria Sand. Everyone in Dorne knew that she was Obyern’s favorite lover and she was even considered his wife.

  
  


“I will send weekly ravens during our stay at Kings Landing to you.” Nymeria replied, with a bow of her head and walked off towards one of the two ships currently at the docks of the water gardens of Dorne.

Obara lingered looking Arianne in the eye, only in what Arianne could describe as searching for any sign of love. “You betrayed me Obara by killing my father and brother, then you stood by and allowed Ellaria to kill Myrcella. Those will take time to heal.” Arianne said, with venom dripping off with each word that left her lips.

“I understand. I just wanted you to know that I am deeply ashamed of what I did in my foolish need for revenge.” Obara said, as she bowed and walked towards the ship that her younger sister had just boarded. 

  
  


Arianne sighed as she watched her cousin walk away from her.  _ She wasn’t even certain if she would ever see them alive again. Knowing she was sending them in the lion's den was breaking her heart, but they had murdered her father and brother. That was a betrayal she wasn’t sure she could forgive for quite awhile. _ Arianne thought to herself as she closed her eyes at these thoughts that were racing through her head.

“Arianne, I’m so sorry.” Ashara said in true sadness as she rushed forward. This caused Arianne to get out of the chaos that was her mind and watch as Ashara grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into her warm comforting embrace. Arianne had told herself she would not cry until she was on the ship bound for Dragonstone. But her body refused to comply with her mind and soon enough she sobbed into Ashara’s neck. Knowing she would never see her father’s firm but loving stare or her stupid little brother read his poems.

“Remember Princess Arianne it’s never a weakness to show emotion.” Arthur said from behind his sister. Arianne nodded her head as she pulled out of Ashara’s comforting arms and wiped the tears from her cheeks. 

“Ulrick and Daynna will meet us at Dragonstone.” Ashara said, as Arianne nodded her head. “Then let us see what this dragon queen is all about.” Arianne said as she whirled around on her heels, she could hear them follow into step behind her, as she walked towards the ship that would take them to Dragonstone.

__________________________________________________________________

  
  
  
  


Albeit a musty, familiar smell, the crypts of Winterfell feel foreboding and dark, dangerous and lifeless. Staring at her statue in the crypts, Lady Lyanna doesn’t feel like this is her home any longer. 

_ I need to see my son, I may just have to run out of these crypts and give him all the love I ever thought I could show a person _ , she says to herself while side-eying the stairs, and silently deciding not to open Ned’s throat in front of all these bystanders. Very unlady-like, but she’s not certain that she wouldn’t stab her dear brother if he says one more off-putting thing about her son. 

Grey Wind, if she remembers correctly, is pacing back and forth, his yellow eyes shining in the torchlight as she pictures a little one, dark-haired and sleeping quietly with his little grey eyes closed in search of sleep, his breaths are quick and it brings a smile to her face. Aegon Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, the last dragon. Lyanna is hating the fact that she won’t get to see her son like that, but he is a man grown and a King. 

The door creaks open to the crypts, followed by footsteps and a torch, and then her heart stops as a heavy cloaked young handsome man comes down the stairs in the company of a white direwolf, with ruby red eyes, as deeply shining red as Rhaegar’s ruby-clad armor. At the base of the stairs he just stands there silently, and she’s hard-pressed to see his facial expression. The two direwolves start to yip at each other playfully, and wrestle around before licking each other. Then the third direwolf, Lady, comes forth and joins them, albeit a little more distant from them. After a short time, they all start to run together as a pack and it feels slightly comforting, although the tug of pain hits her as she realizes that her son has no idea what is going on. 

He looks around at all of them, tense and stern, his grey eyes roving over them, as he examines each of them one by one, showing signs of recognition. When his eyes look to her and Rhaegar, her son shows confusion and pity.

He doesn’t know. Another reason to show Lord Eddard Stark why that was not a good idea. 

“Jon…” Robb says and steps forward into the light. 

“Robb…” Says her son, hugging him tightly, which warms her heart like never before. She is glad to know that her son was loved by someone.

Rhaegar looks to his feet, nervously shuffling as he tries to find the words, letting her son know the truth will be a difficult task. 

Brandon is uncharacteristically silent, still giving dirty looks to Rhaegar. “The boy looks like a Stark, more than I would have thought, Lyanna…”

She stares at Ned with disdain, while he looks away, looking anywhere but her. 

“I promise, Lyanna,” echoes in her mind. She wants to bury a dagger in Ned’s chest, but she refrains. 

Walking over to Ned, she grabs his face and makes him look at her. 

“Tell him, Ned.” She demands, as Eddard gulps, but nods. Ned walks over to her son, putting his hand on the King’s shoulder. Her son looks surprised at the affection from Lord Eddard, setting her ire higher than it was previously. 

If he wasn’t her brother, she’d kill him.

“Jon.” Ned says and stalks over to her son, shame written all over his features.

Jon hugs him, but not as tightly as Robb. The white direwolf sniffs Lord Eddard, and gives a low growl against the stone structure of the crypts. That wolf had sniffed them all, and didn’t mind until Ned had his guilt-ridden expression, Lyanna wonders if this direwolf is an extension of her son, like a sword, or like Old Nan used to say in her stories. 

  
  


Hope bubbles forth in her heart and mind, as Rhaegar holds her hand. “He’s going to need us, Lyanna. He’ll be as wayward as an incomplete song, or harp with the strings plucked, unable to bring the full spectrum of sound forth. Too many others around, we must find the right time and go to him.”

  
  


“Jon, I have something very important to tell you.” Ned said, as Lyanna looked at her brother with no sympathy shining in her gray eyes. “Are you going to tell me who my mother is?” Jon asked, with hope appearing in his dark eyes. “Yes.” Ned replied, he glanced over at his little sister for a moment. She looked at him with anger in her mirroring grey eyes, this caused Ned to close his eyes for a second. 

“By telling you who your mother is, I will also be telling you who your real father is as well.” Ned replied, as he opened his eyes, placing his hand on Jon’s shoulder. Jon’s grey eyes narrowed, widened, and then narrowed again as his face flashed with confusion, looking around the crypt as if somehow their dead family members held the answers to all his questions. “What?” Jon asked in disbelief. Ned took a deep breath, knowing that this would be one of the hardest things he ever had to do in his life. 

“There were some misunderstandings about the rebellion Jon. I marched south and led a warpath to find my only sister dying, and she died not from foul play, but from childbirth. Your mother is Lyanna Stark, and your father is Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon. They married...which means you are their trueborn son and heir. She made me promise to protect you, and I did...as best as I could by keeping you close. I’m sorry that it had to be this way, Jon...” Ned said. Lyanna watches her son finally understand what Ned had just revealed to him. Jon looks away from Ned and towards her, making her heart flutter, but there is no happiness in her son's dark eyes. Not that she blames him.

“Protect me? By lying to me? I thought I was some stain that you couldn’t get rid of!” Jon says with anger, shrugging Ned’s hand off of his shoulder. She wants to rush forward and comfort him in such an angry state, even the white wolf beside him has become irritable. Before she can say anything, her son plants his foot, and then launches a punch square on Eddard’s face, uncaring for the rest of their opinions. Ned falls back and staggers over to his knee, rubbing his face where he was just clocked by her son. Now Lord Eddard falls over and faints, landing on the ground and rustling up dust.

_ That’s my boy _ , she says to herself as she smiles, from ear to ear. 

Her son heads up the stairs, but not before looking back and saying to them all, “We shall speak later, but for now I need to think. Never make an important decision in anger, that’s what kind of king I need to be right now...” He bolts up the stairs with Ghost following closely behind him.

Eddard is laid out on the ground of the crypts, drooling on the stone floor and he’d better be glad that he didn’t die as far as Lyanna is concerned.

Brandon just lifts Ned back up to his feet casually saying, “He’s a Stark alright. No question that he is my nephew.”

“Seven hells, father, I don’t know what I’d do if I were Jon…” Robb says.

“Aegon, we named him Aegon…” Lyanna corrects firmly. 

Ned turns to look at her with anger in plain sight in his grey eyes. Lyanna raises an eyebrow at him, she finds his anger a little hypocritical. 

“I did everything I could to protect him!” Ned yells, causing Robb to step back in shock at his father’s display of anger. Lyanna scoffs, “Sending him to the wall was really protecting him.” She replies back in sarcasm. 

“I wouldn’t have had to if you had told people where you were! Instead Brandon and our father died for nothing and all those other thousands of people who died for you!” Ned cried as both of his hands balled up into fists. 

Lyanna gasped as she looked into Ned’s anger and hurt filled eyes, Brandon paled at Ned’s accusation. Rhaegar’s indigo eyes widened as he wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist. “You're blaming me for Brandon, Father, and everyone else’s death? Did I kill our lady mother as well?” Lyanna asked in disbelief as her grey eyes widened with hurt.

  
  


“You are so big on honesty Lyanna, yet you deceived us. You left us all to clean up your mess after you decided you couldn’t do your duty. That caused Father to race after Brandon and die for your choice! ” Ned said with pent up rage. 

Lyanna felt tears stream down her cheeks as she looked at her older brother. “You are acting like you're the only one who lost something, Lyanna.” Ned said with almost a look of disgust appearing in his grey eyes. Robb gaped at his father.

“I lost my chance at real love with Ashara Dayne, then I lost Brandon, our father, then you. I lost everything dear to me, and all I got in return was Winterfell, and the respect of the Northmen, except when the King's Justice came for my head...” Ned said with a shake of his head as he looked at his sister once more before he chuckled sadly and spun on his heel. 

“Ned?” Lyanna said on a broken sob as she ran off after her older brother chased him up the crypt stairs and into the courtyard of Winterfell. 

Tears blurred her vision, she found it hard to continue following him, “Ned please.” Lyanna cried, as she fell to her knees on the snow covered ground. She heard the familiar deep breath of her older brother as he pulled her into his arms, “Sometimes I think you are trying to worry me to death.” Ned whispered in her ear. As she clung to him with dear life, “I am sorry.” Lyanna said with more tears streaming down her cheeks. “I truly thought the Wall would protect him from the Lannisters and Robert. I am sorry too, I just knew that one whisper of Jon being a Targaryen would have invited chaos to our doorstep.” Ned said as he wiped the tears from her face. “Forgive me, Lyanna.” Ned pleads as his grey eyes hold unshed tears. Lyanna’s face softens to an impassive one, and she nods her head. 

“I forgive you, Ned. He’s my son you know. It’s hard to believe that he’s such a man, and that I was not there to see it happen.” Lyanna says, as tears continue to stream down her cheeks. “He has his father’s sword ability, but everything else is you. Just like my daughter Arya.” Ned said as tears stream down his cheeks as well. They continue sitting on the snow-covered ground of the courtyard of Winterfell hugging each other afraid that the other will disappear.

Lyanna wants to go and reach out to her son, but the man that she just saw is as far from her as east is from west, and she knows not how to approach this King that is her son. It’s a bitter thought to take in, but the time will come.

____________________________________________________________

  
  
  
  


Sansa let out a huff of air in frustration as she racked her mind for places that Jon could have wandered off to.  _ This just reaffirms that she doesn’t really know her brother, it seems, and it's coming to fruition now.  _ She thinks to herself as she shoves her fingers through her fire red hair, hoping its softness will calm her down. _ He can’t just disappear from and expect to have the love of the men, or their respect. Understand the man, and thus find out his goals. Jon’s not ambitious, even though he has a crown on his head. He’s not a coward, as some men can be, he could charge an army. What could have happened to this man that would make him want to hide or disappear?  _

  
  


She once more thought to herself as she came to a stop at the entrance to the Grand Hall of Winterfell. “Lady Stark. I had some things that I would like to discuss with you about?” Lord Baelish asked, just the sound of his charming voice caused her to shudder in disgust. She froze but turned to face him, she plastered on her face a fake smile.“Yes, Lord Baelish. What can I do for you?” Sansa asked him, with a false politeness behind every word she said. His greyish-green eyes held both amusement and understanding as he closed the distance between them in the hallway, leaving about an inch between them that was not proper between an unwed man and woman. 

  
  


“The Vale didn’t come North for Jon Snow, we came for you. You should take the Dreadfort and become queen.” Lord Baelish said quietly for her ears only. Just the feel of his breath against the nap of her neck left her repulsed. A small part of her that still held the innocence of her broken and battered youth wanted to yell at him. “Unlike you lord Baelish, I am loyal to my king and happen to love my brother. I will never betray him for the likes of you.” Sansa said with a dark edge to her lady voice as she bowed her head and quickly walked around away from the entrance to the grand hall.

She could feel his scheming catlike eyes following her every step until she was no longer in his line of sight. Her heart hammered in her chest as a tear slid down her cheek, “I am safe. He can’t hurt me anymore.” Sansa mumbled to herself as she took deep breaths in and out of her mouth. “Milady Stark are you alright?” Ser Davos asked in concern. Sansa spun around on her heel as she looked into his dark eyes as she let out a sigh of relief.

“Jon, where is he?” Sansa asked as her heart pounded faster in her chest. Ser Davos narrowed his eyes but nodded his head, “His grace is in his old rooms, Milady.” Ser Davos said as he shook his head. “You will find him different.” He whispered as she stiffened as she looked at him with sadness filling in her blue eyes. “He promised me.” Sansa said in a stuttering voice. Davos looked at her with searching green eyes, more concern filling them. “Jon said he would teach me how to fight.” Sansa whispered, finally able to get out what she had been trying to say.

Sansa shakes heard realizing what she had just admitted, her blue eyes widened in both fear and shock. She turns on her heels and walks down the hall towards the servant chambers that her mother had placed Jon in all those years ago, it was her way of keeping him out of her hair. Sansa pauses right outside of the door to Jon’s old room, she closes her eyes in regret.  _ Back then she had been so cruel to him. When he only ever wanted family, belonging, and love.  _ Sansa sighs and opens her eyes as she opens the door to his old room, “Jon?” Sansa asked as she stepped into the room cautiously.

Jon is leaning against the wall near the small singular window in the drafty old and dusty room. Her blue eyes widen in concern as she sees his fists opening and closing as if he is ready to punch a hole in the wall. “What happened?” She asked, with genuine concern in her voice. Jon still doesn’t turn around as she goes to take a step towards him only to have Ghost stare at her with his red eyes seeming to warn her not to disturb him. Ghost examines her silently with sadness in his red eyes making her even more concerned. 

_ Something has happened. Something has changed in her brother. She isn’t a mewling little girl any longer, she will get to the bottom of this and she will do so now. She has just gotten the remainder of her family back, and she will be damned if she loses it again.  _ Sansa thinks to herself as she decides to throw caution to the wind and be there for her brother like he had been there for her when she needed him. Sansa squares her shoulders back and walks over to him and sadness fills her as she sees the stern boy that she had grown with, struggling with the man and the King that he has become.  _ What can she do in this situation?  _ She struggles to answer her own question as more doubt begins to cloud her thoughts. “Crypts...” Jon whispers. “Go into the crypts.” He continues as his fist closes once more, he seems completely out of it.

“Why?” She asks apprehensively, wondering if leaving him to his own devices would be a good thing because clearly he was struggling with something. “Just do it, can you stop questioning me for one second?” Jon says, flexing his fist and hand in anger once more. 

“Of course I can. But Jon this isn’t me questioning you. This is me concerned about you. I don’t want to lose you.” Sansa whispers back struggling to hold back the tears that threaten to fall. To her surprise Jon stiffens as he slowly turns around and even more sadness fills her as she sees the torment in his grey eyes. “I have learned that my whole life was a lie.” Jon replied as he balled up his fists once more. 

“Whatever you have learned, we can figure it out together. I love you and this information doesn’t change who you are.” Sansa says passionately as she steps into his personal space. His grey eyes lock with hers, his stare is so intense that she almost turns her gaze away, but knows right now he needs her support. “ Who am I? Sansa because I’m not certain that I even know anymore.” He says honestly.

  
  


“You are brave, you are loyal to a fault, you are honorable, stubborn, hero bond, and most of all you have the biggest heart I know.” Sansa says with tears that stream down her cheeks. Jon looks up at the ceiling of his old room as a single tear rolls down his cheeks as he lets out a deep breath. Sansa watches her brother in silence for just a second longer struggling yet again to accept everything she has just said. She flings herself into his unsuspecting arms catching him by surprise as he wraps his arms around her. He stumbles back a few steps but is finally able to steady himself as he looks down at her with wide eyes, “You're my big brother and nothing will ever change that.”She says, giving him a tight hug for another second longer.

  
  


She steps out of the circle of his arms looking him in the eyes, “I will go to the crypts.” Sansa says, with a loving look as he nods his head in thanks. She sighs looking at him still but finally finds the courage to turn on her heels and walk out of his old room leaving him to struggle with whatever he has learned. _ Why the crypts? _ She asks herself with both dread and curiosity. Her heart beats uncontrollably, this is the first time since retaking Winterfell that she has been down here in the crypts because she had been too ashamed to look at her father’s face after she had betrayed him, and then being forced to marry Ramsay Bolton. 

  
  


_ The air feels somehow different. As if something has somehow righted itself and something has returned that had been lost for years. _ Sansa thinks to herself as she walks down the stairs and into the crypts taking in the quiet dark areas. It almost feels like the godswood of Kings Landing, in that no one will disturb her.  _ What in the world was Jon talking about? _ She asks herself as she examines the crypt finding that they are well attended and nearly alive, from her perspective. 

A set of quiet footsteps make her nearly jump out of her skin, as she looks at a looming shadow, not unlike some of the statues that she hasn’t laid eyes on in a long while. The shame of her betrayal is too heavy a burden at the moment. 

“Sansa…” A voice that she has not heard in many years says to her. 

Eddard Stark, the last person she would ever expect to see, comes out of the clearing. Her father, the man that raised her and showed her the ways of the North. The face that she was too ashamed to look at is here, in the flesh. 

When Jon said that he died once, Sansa didn’t believe him. She couldn’t understand how death wasn’t final, death is the natural end of life, a line of sorts that just ends. Sometimes abruptly, on a battlefield, or at the sadistic whims of a monarch, and sometimes when your life has made it to the end of a long life. She watched this man lose his head, and was forced to see it again after it was mounted on the spike. 

Jon was telling the truth after all…

She hugs her father, with guilt and shame looming heavy over her head. Suddenly there are others that walk out of the clearing, along with their father. Then she meets the rest of her long lost family, and the tears start to flow. 

Robb is back, still every bit the Young Wolf that she cried for when she heard of his death. With a heavy burden on his shoulders. She has no idea what to say to him. 

Lyanna Stark, the woman that her father hardly ever mentioned, with the dark hair and grey eyes that remind her so much of Arya, is here. She looks as stern and strong as Jon too, somehow. Even still she seems angry and yet still longing for something, or perhaps someone. She finds it difficult to understand the woman, and there’s something that she’s missing when it comes to her aunt...It must be a heavy secret, as the few of them seem to have something written on their faces.

Then there's Brandon Stark. He’s impatient and hot headed, not at all like her father and Uncle Benjen. He seems to be defeated to a certain extent, but his siblings are keeping him in line. Strange thing, seeing people that were clearly dead standing here and trying to learn where their lot and life is. “Tell me about yourselves.” She asks them.

As she listens to them tell their stories, her heart races. There is a part of her that is mildly resentful of them, seeing all of these Starks that could undermine her as Lady of Winterfell, but she puts that thought away, as the feelings that she has turn complicated. 

Sansa doesn’t know who she is anymore...She hates that, being unable to recognize herself.

Another familiar feeling washes over her as Lady, the wolf that her lies brought to ruin and death comes forth and sniffs her, smelling the guilt and burning anger and contempt she feels for her actions. 

Her heart wrenches as Lady walks away from her and towards Lady Lyanna, and now she knows what her punishment is for her betrayal, and she will be forced to question whether or not she is even Sansa Stark, perhaps for the rest of her life. 

  
  


_ If not that, then who or what is she? _

  
  


__________________________________________________________

  
  
  
  
  


Grey Worm walks into Daenerys’ chambers after knocking on her door, “Forgive me, my Queen, a Red Priestess from Asshai is here to see you.” Greyworm said; she raises her head from her mother’s journal. Daenerys looked around her chambers once more before she took a deep breath and left her rooms.

Grey Worm paused waiting for Missandei to leave Daenerys’ chambers, Missandei blushed shyly when she met the warm gaze of Grey Worm. Meraxes followed Missandei out the chambers before she could shut them, “I approve.” Dany whispered down low for only Missandei and Grey Worm to hear. Grey Worm blushed for what seemed to be the first time in his life while Missandei both glared and blushed at Daenerys words.

Dany chuckled and shook her head as they entered the throne room. “Red Flea, can you go and retrieve Ser Barristan and both lords Varys and Tyrion?” She asked. Red Flea nodded his head and walked off to get her protector and wary advisors.

A red-robed woman came forth, her red hair flowed down her shoulders as her blue eyes locked on her violet ones. Ser Barristan walked into the throne room looking at this woman with a skeptical raise of his eyebrow. Lord Varys and Tyrion followed after Red Flea, “Queen Daenerys, I am honored to meet the Breaker of chains, I am no stranger to being sold and scourged myself. You are an inspiration to someone like me.” The woman said, bowing her head.

“What’s your name, my lady?” she asked before the woman sighed.

“My name is Melisandre,” the woman said.

“She once served Stannis Baratheon, she served him right here in this very castle until he marched off to the North and got himself killed, where were you then?” Varys asks; he stepped a little closer to the red-robed woman.“I-” Melisandre tried to say, but Dany rolled her eyes at the Spider.

“We forgive those who have seen the error of their ways, isn’t that right, Lord Varys?” Daenerys said, reminding him that he committed treason before he nodded his head.  _ I can understand his apprehension of trusting a person of religion. I once long ago trusted a witch, never again,  _ she thought to herself. “What does the Lord of Light want?” Daenerys asked Melisandre. 

“Specifics elude me, Your Grace, but I know that you have a great role to play in the coming winter, as does the King in the North, Jon Snow,” Melisandre said looking directly into her eyes. Dany tilts her head to the side, she didn’t know who this Jon Snow was.

“Jon Snow? The Bastard of Winterfell?” Tyrion said incredulously. He looked at the red woman with wide eyes; he really hadn’t kept tabs on the boy after leaving the Wall.

“You know him?” Dany said; she looked away from Melisandre and looked at her hand. Knowing that this Jon Snow was connected to the Starks. 

“I traveled with him to the Wall, a solemn boy, but now that I think about it, doesn’t he have a white direwolf? I remember they seemed to be in sync with each other, that wolf knew more than any other companion I’ve seen, not unlike the dragons, I must admit, Your Grace.” Tyrion said, rubbing his scruffy chin in thought. Daenerys looked at her hand with a look of interest. Direwolves were the sigil of House Stark. Jorah had told her that all the direwolves south of the wall had died out long ago, and only lived in the land north of the wall now. 

“Why would this Jon Snow have any importance to us, outside of your visions, that is?” Varys asks; his once unreadable dark eyes finally showing a hint of wariness and concern. “He conquered the North with an army of Wildlings, and now he has the entirety of the North behind him, to face this winter with great strength against their common enemy,” Melisandre said nervously. 

“Send a raven to Jon Snow. Meet with him and have him tell you of what he has seen with his own eyes. You will not readily believe it, but I tell you that is the truth, he couldn’t lie to save his life...” Melisandre said as she bowed her head. Daenerys sighed and nodded her head and waved for Red Flea to escort Melisandre to her chambers for the night. Daenerys placed her hand on Meraxes’ head as she began to process everything Melisandre had just revealed to her. 

“If he truly has the North, then he would be a powerful ally. He who controls the North controls the Seven Kingdoms, that was what my father always said. He was right about some things.” Tyrion advised; he rubbed his hand on his chin wondering if what the red priestess said could be the truth. “I know the lad, he was a good boy with a good heart, and I, after all, I would know the character of a man, wouldn’t I?” Tyrion reminded, lifting his goblet, to his lips. 

“In this I agree with Lord Tyrion, your grace.” Barristan Selmy said as he glanced over at Daenerys. Daenerys nodded her head as Meraxes purred and bumped her head against Dany’s hand. A smile came to her lips as she tore her violet eyes away from her best friend and looked at her advisors. “How do we get the North on our side?” Daenerys asked as Varys stood straighter with a certain gleam in his dark eyes. 

“As our lord hand here told you back in Mereen, the best way to make alliances is through marriage.” Varys said as Tyrion choked on the wine he had just taken a sip of. Daenerys leaned back against her chair as she looked at Varys with an appraising look, “Do you agree Lord Tyrion and Ser Barristan?” Daenerys asked as Meraxes jumped on Daenerys lap and curled herself into a ball as she observed everyone in the throne room.

“Your grace, his father was one of the most honorable men I knew. From what I hear Jon Snow is much like his father. So, I agree with Lord Varys here in saying he would make the most worthy consort for you.” Barristan said proudly. Tyrion raised his goblet in the air in agreement as he took a sip and met the gaze of Daenerys. “Tyrion and Missandei would you write to Jon Snow and ask him for a meeting? I shall consider an alliance so that we can rid ourselves of the same enemy Cersei Lannister.” Daenerys said as they nodded their heads and walked to the painted table chamber.

“Good night Lord Varys and Ser Barristan.” Daenerys dismissed them as they bowed their heads at her. Meraxes jumped down from her lap as Dany got up from the throne and walked back to her room feeling curious about this Jon Snow. One of her unsullied guards that was stationed outside of her bed chamber opened the door allowing Dany and Meraxes to enter the slightly warm room, then shut it behind them. Daenerys slipped out of her court dress and stepped into her nightgown and she moved the covers aside as she slipped onto the bed. She laid her head down on the pillows and began drifting off to sleep at the sounds of the waves crashing against the cliffs. 

_ “It’s you.” the familiar male voice whispered beside her on the bed. Daenerys opened her eyes as she turned over and gasped when she saw him. The man who owned her heart, but she still after all these years couldn’t see his face. “And It’s you...again...” Dany replied back as tears of happiness streamed down her cheeks. His darkened face sighed as he pulled her tighter against his body, “I was praying that I would see you after the day I have had.” He said as his calloused hands ran up and down her arms. What happened?” Dany asked worriedly as she cuddled closer to his bare chest. “I learned that who I thought I was isn’t true.” He said in both frustration and uncertainty.  _

_ “You are still the man I fell in love with and the same man who has always been there for me. You are still you, no matter what you learned about yourself.” Daenerys said lovingly to him. “You will always be who you were meant to be...” She starts to ask his name, and then he silences her with a kiss. He choked on what seemed like a sob as he crashed his lips on hers, Daenerys clutched his head as she kissed him back. Next, he rolled on top of Daenerys, she moaned into his mouth as he licked his way into her mouth. His face hidden, but still handsome, she felt overcome with awe and lust as his shadowy figure fades away. A cold breeze soothes the heat resonating from her body, and a white powder substance, cold and melting lands on her hand as she reaches for him. She looks at it, and it takes the form of a rose, fading blue before it too leaves her.  _

_ I wonder if this was the cold substance, only described as “Snow,” she thought to herself. She had never seen such a strange but welcoming cold.  _

______________________________________________________

Jaime raked his hand through his sandy blonde hair as he looked over the soldiers reports, but he found that he couldn't quite focus on the task at hand.  _ Burn them all! I will be an immortal lioness!  _ Jaime thinks to himself as he throws the reports down on the table in front of him. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach as he remembered that Cersei was now drinking their son’s blood.  _ Tommen!  _ Thinking his name made him want to strangle Cersei for her uncaring attitude towards their son’s death. 

_ Now she wanted him to somehow get their armies ready for the long journey to the North and somehow make them bend to their will in the middle of winter!  _ Jaime thinks to himself as he pulls on his hair fiercely knowing that the woman he had once loved was gone and that he would probably have to make the same choice that landed him the title of “ **Kingslayer”.** “You are looking very pensive. Who died?” Bronn jokingly asked as he bounded into the room with glee.

Jaime looked up into Bronn’s gleeful black eyes with frustration and sadness. “Jaime, what happened?” Bronn suddenly asked, very concerned. “Cersei is drinking our dead son’s blood, she claims that she will become immortal.” Jaime replied, becoming paler by the minute. Bronn gasped as he shook his head, he sat down in the chair next to Jaime. “Jaime this is becoming too much.” Bronn said, as Jaime nodded his head in agreement. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he thought of how he had failed both Tommen and Myrcella. 

“Cersei also wants me to invade the north, which both of us know is impossible now that winter is here.” Jaime replied as he balled his hands into fists. Bronn spit out his wine that he had just taken a sip of. “This letter arrived from the twins alerting us that all the Freys have been killed except for Olyver, who was Robb Stark’s squire. Edmure was also released by someone that is not a friend of ours.” Jaime said, continuing with the bad news. Bronn let out a rather loud and drawn out sigh as he put his head in his head looking at Jaime with wide uncertain eyes. 

“I’m going to have to kill her.” Jaime said in a shaky voice as more tears threatened to fall down his cheeks. 

“Would you be able to do it?” Bronn asked with a serious tone in voice as he leaned forward in his chair. Jaime closed his eyes as his fists tightened knowing that even though a small part of him still loved his sister a bigger part of his heart had been stolen away by another. That he would also have to accept that the woman his sister had once been was gone or maybe she had always been this way and he had been blinded to it because of his love for her.

“She had a hand in Tommen’s death and now defiles his body by drinking his blood. She burned the sept of baelor down, killing our uncle and all of our allies with wildfire, so yes I can.” Jaime said with convection and honesty in each word he said.

“Look at you, you almost look like you believe that, you gold lion you.” Bronn says grinning. “The Mountain would stop you, and you’ve got one hand. Next you’ll be telling me that you want to be King? Who’s going to sit the throne after this plan, if she dies? You plan for that?” Bronn asks, sharpening a knife and inspecting the blade, still with a slight grin.

Jaime felt worried, the last time he grinned like this, he was nearly beaten with his Valyrian Steel Sword. “I think I know what you’re planning, just make it look like an accident, don’t let Cersei think I left of my own free will.” Jaime stated, knowing that Bronn had a plan. That was until Bronn hit him, and then, everything went black. 

_______________________________________________

  
  
  


“Large ships with banners on the horizon, Your Grace.” Missandei says and smiles at Daenerys. 

“Which banners do you see?” Daenerys asks in reply.

“A kraken, a sun with a spear through it and a golden rose. So Asha is here with us again, and she brought Lady Tyrell and Princess Martell?” Missandei replies.

“Very good. You are a fast learner.” Daenerys says.

They head into the Chamber of the Painted table, prepared to claim the dragon's birthright. The dark table shows a large host on the eastern island of Dragonstone, but the next step is to claim the Seven Kingdoms, three of which are represented here, and the markers highlighted on Dorne and the Reach show a large host if they can work together.

Together...A most interesting word...The kind of dreams she has are interesting, whether the dragons, the man of her dreams or her mother, the theme of her dreams have led her to this realization. They need to work together.

It’s up to her to guide them and ensure them that she is a queen worth following. Tyrion is standing near the table waiting for her. Now she finds all eyes are now on her as she walks towards the head table, eager to meet her new allies. She sits, staring at the markers and sigils on the figures on the table.

They all sit, first Lady Olenna, dressed in a black gown with roses. Her face is somewhat wrinkled, but she has a stern expression. She looks ready to do battle. 

Now she sees Asha Greyjoy sit, with Theon behind her. 

Next is what can only be Princess Arianne, a fair-skinned beautiful girl with colors of orange and red and yellow and dark hair to match her dark eyes. The woman that stands behind her catches her attention as well. An older woman with violet eyes, just as deep purple as Viserys’ were. She stares a bit longer than she should , but that’s the perk of being queen. The woman stares back and graces her with a smile that seems like a light in a darkened sky. 

Interesting. 

Ser Barristan looks like he has something to say, but it will wait for the end of this war council. She notices how his eyes keep drifting towards Lady Ashara, and a plethora of emotions flash on his face.

“Thank you for coming, I’d like to know that you have my gratitude for coming to join me, and I suspect that we will make a great alliance. This will be my first one that doesn’t as of yet involve marriage.” Daenerys says, while the rest of them smile and laugh a bit at her. 

“How do you mean to depose Cersei?” Olenna asks sternly.

“By turning Westeros against her. They must see me as a viable option before I go and rip her out of the Red Keep that my ancestors built.”

“If you burn that hateful bitch in the dead of night…” Olenna continues, “Then I am no better than her.” Daenerys cuts her off.

“If we march to her gates with a full army, then the Lannisters will be wiped out in a day.” Asha says.

“With an army of foreigners, all of Westeros would unite to repel a foreign army, you want to help my sweet sister stay on the throne?” Tyrion replies. 

The air is tense, but they all look to Daenerys, seeing what her disposition is.

“I’ve given it much thought, and the woman must be removed, but not by cramming an army in the capital. I can’t claim to be protector of the realm” Daenerys says.

“It’s the only way to get her out, she’ll kill everyone in King's Landing before she comes quietly. Your only hope is that someone wants her dead, and can get into the capital before she makes her grand move.” Princess Arianne says. 

“Here’s the thing, be careful when you attack an enemy that you don’t understand. I don’t know what she wants, nor do I know where her army will make its move. She is clearly cornered, and even the largest of armies can be defeated under the right circumstances.” Daenerys replies, changing the mood in the chamber from tense to one of understanding. 

“As far as what she wants, she wants power.” Tyrion says.

“How can she accomplish this, with the dragon breathing down her neck?” Asha asks no one in particular.

“The Reach.” Princess Arianne says. 

“Go on.” Daenerys replies, intrigued.

“Winters in Westeros are harsh and unforgiving, not unlike the North, from what I understand.” Arianne says. 

“True.” Tyrion says, and Theon and Ashara nod in affirmation. 

Arianne continues, “The Reach has a large harvest and a lot of gold, not to mention a relatively soft army.” Olenna nods.

“If Cersei were to take the Reach, she would be able to hold up in that gods forsaken city until the winter passed, and she’d be able to petition the Iron Bank against us. She may muster up another army if she gets her hands on the gold.” Arianne finishes. 

Daenerys looks around the table and they all nod in agreement. She gives a slight smile.

She ushers Tyrion over and whispers in his ear and he then heads to the painted table, blackened as if forged by dragon fire. 

The Hand of the Queen, the dwarf of Lannister, moves the markers of army figures over to the Reach, showing one united army in the center of Westeros, able to defend it against the onslaught they expect from the Lion, and their eyes widen before understanding flashes on their faces. 

They nod their approval. 

Lastly, Tyrion moves a single dragon piece westward, and towards the Westerlands, before landing on Casterly Rock and knocking the lion over there. 

“You’re a crafty one,” Olenna says, in obvious approval. 

“We will save Westeros, and we do it...together…” Daenerys says and stands. The rest of them follow suit, standing with her, and she glances over to see Tyrion and Missandei smirking. 

“That is all for now, I’ve always wanted to see Highgarden, Lady Olenna, such is the price of standing with the dragons when the time came.” Daenerys says, and dismisses them. A rush of warmth comes over her as she feels like she won them over. They all trek out of the room, and then Ser Barristan comes in with a strange look washing over him. It’s then that she noticed the Lady of Starfall standing there still. 

“Lady Ashara…” Ser Barristan says, nearly fainting with surprise and then another knight comes forth and Ser Barristan’s jaw nearly drops to the floor. He hugs the man like a long lost son, and they all chuckle at them before they regain their composure. 

“Apologies, Your Grace. I saw a face that I thought was long gone. This is the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne.” Ser Barristan says. 

Ser Arthur bows to her, and kisses her hand, allowing her to heartbeat to finally slow back down. “I have heard so many stories about you Ser, I read myself to sleep about you some nights.” 

While still bowing, she can see a single tear flowing from his blue eyes, deep blue like the narrow sea, and she can tell this man is genuine. 

“I must tell you something, Your Grace. I would be loath to not inform you, but there is more that I don’t even know, although it shall be revealed in time.” Ser Arthur says, with a sincere and serious tone.

If this man is a liar, he is the best that the world has ever seen. 

“You are not the last dragon, Queen Daenerys, there is yet another…” 

_______________________________________________

  
  


Jon paces back and forth on Winterfell’s battlements, looking for answers within his own head. He has found not one. There’s a need for a council, where he needs to reveal the return of all the lords that preceded him as King in the North. That alone may get him ousted from his place in the Great Hall, but then the truth is, he’s a Targaryen. The Northern Lords might just try to kill him over that thought. No time to dwell on that, he’s their king until such a time as he is removed or killed. 

Eddard Stark is the one that he needs to talk to, but the anger is flowing through him, like the hot springs in Winterfell, bubbling up with a dreadful heat, but in this case it sets his body ablaze with fury. His mother and father are here, and he knows not what to say to them, but then he must. 

Now he knows the true meaning of Maester Aemon’s words. 

Kill the boy. Time to be a man.

“The Gate. The Gate!” Interrupts his thoughts. 

The gate opens and every fiber of his being leads him to it. Ghost is right there alongside him, he must be excited too. 

The face of his little sister Arya makes his heart leap and his feet feel like wings. Before any words are exchanged she is in his arms and they are holding each other for dear life, without another care in the world. For a time, his burdens don’t feel so heavy, his shoulders can relax for what feels like the first time in years, and just a few words from his little sister were all he needed. 

“I missed you.” They say to each other. The smile didn’t leave either of their faces, even though they can both tell that wear and tear has affected each other. 

“You look different.” Arya says. 

“You look like a little woman now, I’m so glad that you survived.” Jon replies.

“We have much to discuss, little sister, meet me in the Godswood will you?” Jon asks. 

“Of course Jon, or is it Your Grace now?” She teases. 

“It’s always Jon to you.” He whispers. 

  
  


_________________________________________________

Sam dropped the scalpel on the metal medical table behind him, as sweat poured down his face. His back and shoulders protested as he righted himself, looking over Ser Jorah’s bare skin, searching for any greyscale that he could have missed. Sam shook his head as his eyelids began to shut, from lack of sleep, “Can you turn around again?” Sam asked, Ser Jorah. 

Ser Jorah nodded his head as he groaned in pain, that came out as a mumble due to the stick that was still in his mouth. Ser Jorah slowly turned around until his back was turned to Sam, giving him a better look at the skin that had once been covered in grayscale. Sam hummed in approval and triumph with the knowledge that he was able to cure this man, from what maesters said was incurable. “That’s all the grayscale.” Sam said, in happiness as he stretched both his back and shoulders out. 

Sam groaned once he no longer felt any discomfort and walked over to Jorah, he pulled out the stick from his mouth. “Thank you.” Ser Jorah remarked, with appreciation clear in his dark eyes. Sam felt himself redden from embarrassment at the knights gratefulness for still being alive. “I owe you a great debt.” Ser Jorah said, as Sam handed him his worn out tunic. Sam shook his head in clear denial at his words even as he helped the knight into his tunic. 

  
  


“I just did what anyone else would have done.” Sam said, suddenly feeling shy.  _ He hated that he felt like that idiot that had first gone to the wall all those years ago. He killed a white walker and a Thenn for god sakes!  _ Sam thinks to himself as he clears his throat and looks at the knight, who he knows is the son of his late lord commander. “You were the only one who was willing to help me. Anything you need, I shall do within my power.” Ser Jorah replied, as he continued to look at Sam with appreciation still shining in his eyes. 

  
  


Sam stood straighter as he finally looked into the eyes of Ser Jorah Mormont,  _ I am tired of reading about the tales of better men.  _ Sam thinks to himself as he wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, “You could help me take the books from the restricted section.” Sam said, half in shame and half in honesty. 

Jorah’s dark eyes widened, then he nodded his head, “Of course, although I can’t imagine why. When would this take place?” Jorah asked him with a raise of his greying eyebrow. Sam huffed for a second pondering if he really wanted to do this but knowing deep down that this was the only way to help Jon and the North. “Tonight.” Sam said, with his chin held high as Jorah sighed and nodded his head. “So be it.” Jorah replied with a steel look entering his dark eyes. 

They bide their time, waiting until dark, making plans and looking for a path into the restricted area of the Citadel, where all the knowledge is supposedly.

“Why are we doing this again, Samwell Tarly?” Ser Jorah asks, as they meet up, lanterns in tow and barely shining light on their nervous faces.

“Well, umm, because there is an army of dead men coming to turn us into thralls, and i’d like to avoid that if at all possible.” 

Ser Jorah just nods.

“The Maesters won’t believe us until we are all turned into blue eyed corpses, still moving, and by then it’ll be too late. I may be a coward, but I don’t want to be one of those things.” Sam says.

Jorah is listening now.

“It was one of the few times I ever saw your father scared, he said he’ll not sit meekly by, as the dead come for us and he rode out the next day, to find the truth of the matter. I won’t either.” Sam finishes.

“You did know my father didn’t you?” Jorah asks rhetorically. Sam just nods.

They walk to the restricted area, with the dark room barely lit at all, and the musty smell of the books is filling their noses.

Sam pulls out a key he found and unlocks it, searching for anything involving the Long Night. 

“They are on the west side of the Library, if you are looking for the Long Night.” A mysterious voice says. Sam trips and nearly falls when he hears the strange voice, and Ser Jorah has a sword at the ready in an instant.

“Relax, I’m Marwyn, and seeing as you are a brother of the Night’s Watch and this is the son of the former Lord Commander, It’s not hard to tell why you are here.” Marwyn says.

“You saw them?” Marwyn asks, and Sam gulps hard and then nods in reply.

“What works on them?” Marwyn asks, to which Samwell debates on whether to respond or not.

“Dragonglass, obsidian, they call it,” Sam replies as Marwin puts his hand on his chin in thought.

“You may want to take a few books from the Maester of Dragonstone, Pylos, was it?” Marwyns says, rubbing his chin. 

“That’s it, Pylos, he replaced Cressen when the old man died. You’ll want to note the information in Cressen’s journal as well, Tarly. Sam and Jorah look at each other and then shrug and take the books, making their way through the restricted area and retrieving the books on the Long Night. 

They find each other again at the stables, Samwell having Gilly and little Sam in tow. There’s a figure at their meeting spot, a man that Sam finally recognizes, even though he doesn’t know his name. “There’s a book you took that I want.” The man Sam knows in passing says.

Sam and Jorah just look at each other, then Samwell looks at Gilly and little Sam before sighing in resignation. “Which book?” Sam asks.

“One from Septon Maynard, it mentions my aunt Elia, and I wish to know the truth of it.” 

“Aunt? Elia? Just who are you?” Sam asks. 

“You’re a smart one aren’t you? Well it’s no use hiding it anymore, I was leaving this place anyway. Dorne is allied with a Targaryen, and I’ll be better off going back home. I am Sarella Sand, one of Oberyn’s daughters.” 

Jorah perks up now. “Daenerys Targaryen?” 

Sarella nods. “She is my Queen, I have been with her for a number of years, before I caught that dreadful sickness, I would like to return to her side.” Jorah says with excitement.

“Looks like we may have the same path then. I’ll come with you, if you speak true about knowing the Dragon Queen then I shall have use for you.” Sarella says, eyeing the Bear Knight. He just stares back at her with a blank expression. They relent and she jumps in the carriage with them.

Ready to leave and preparations made, they make their way outside the Citadel with a satchel of books.

Sam opens the book, curious as to what Sarella is talking about, and is baffled by what he sees. 

Sam takes the letter and hides in his pocket. “It can’t be…Jon...A Targaryen…?” Sam whispers into the night air of Oldtown, and the puzzle starts to make sense in his head.

___________________________________________________

  
  
  


Cersei tapped her fingernails against the Iron Throne,  the ‘tap’, ‘tap’, 'tap’ of her nails on the metal of the throne seemed to mimic the beating of her dark-heart as anger and hate filled it. She couldn’t believe that Jaime was gone… gone, without even a word to her. She felt such an urge to cry. Gone were the days that they were inseparable. From the moment they entered the world together, with him holding onto her ankle as they left their mother’s womb; they were born one person in two bodies. 

The urge to shed tears was a strong one, she would be damned if she would cry over anyone. She afterall, was  a lion…  the  **_last_ ** lion , well as far as she was concerned, neither of her brothers were lions to her. Jaime, he stopped being a lion when his sword hand was removed and that little monster Tyrion, Tyron was no lion, after killing their mother, he was a murderer. She swore to herself  and whichever gods truly existed that if she ever got her hands on either one of her brothers they would learn the true meaning of a lion’s might.

  
  


She would make them watch as she drained the other of their blood before drinking it. Just the thought of their blood as it flowed down her throat, made her mouth water in delight; she would then truly be the **_last_** Lannister. She couldn’t help the smug smirk that appeared on her painted lips while she drank from the wine-filled goblet that her hand-maid handed her as she watched the lords of Highgarden trail into the throne room; observing them one-by-one as if they were her prey and she the predator. 

Rolling her eyes, this is what she hated the most, the waiting; waiting while these little people wasted her time. While the rest of the assembled nobility filed into the throne-room, she sat on HER throne. Yes, she lost her children, her golden boy, Joff, and her baby Tommen, but the throne and the power that came with it was finally hers. While waiting for those smartly dressed idiots, her thoughts turned to herself, “ _How beautiful do I look today_. _Although, thanks to that idiotic ‘High Sparrow’, my short hair, makes my face look a bit_ _gaun_ _t, I am still beautiful.”_ Cersei could not help the self-satisfied thought that ran through her mind.

“My queen, lord Randyll Tarly is here and asks for an audience.” One of the guards announced as he both bowed and bent the knee before the iron throne. Cersei jumped slightly getting out of her thoughts, she tried to cover up the fact that she had been caught unawares. By the looks on Qyburn, Euron, and the guard’s face she had failed in that endeavor. “I will gladly accept his audience, bring him here.” She ordered, with a wave of her hand. The guard nodded his head understanding that he was clearly being dismissed as he got up from the floor and hurriedly walked out of the throne room. 

Euron Greyjoy stood on the right side of the iron throne she sat on, while Qyburn stood on the left side of the iron throne.  _ Euron wanted to be her husband but so far he had done nothing to prove he deserved such an honor or trust. The only man she could trust was Qyburn, he was the only one who had ever proved to be loyal to her. _ Cersei thinks to herself as she tightens her hold on the iron throne arm rests. 

Cersei shakes her head to clear those thoughts from her mind.  _ She has heard of Randyll Tarly, he is one of the most famous generals in Westeros. In the rebellion against the Targaryens he had sided with the Targaryens and held against Robert for months.  _ Cersei thinks to herself as a smug smile appears on her red painted lips with the knowledge that he was here pledging himself and his forces to her instead of Daenerys Targaryen the foregin whore. 

The doors to the throne room opened revealing Lord Randyll Tarly of the Ironhills and a few of his own men walking closely behind him. Randyll came to a stop at the steps of the iron throne and bent the knee, “Your grace, it's a pleasure to be in your presence.” He said, as he looked her in the eyes. She can see fear written on his expression, but he need not love her. As long as he leads the army, that’s all she needs. Lord Tarly has a young man at his side, tall and handsome, and wearing the Tarly sigil. Perhaps his son will be more willing, even if Randyll is not. 

“Lord Tarly, I am pleased that you are here. I do not know you well, other than the fact that you led the armies against Robert’s men in the rebellion. Before my husband’s untimely death, he said that you were one of the best generals he had fought against.” Cersei says, sitting up straighter on the iron throne. Her green eyes appraised him as he stood up from the ground and he bowed his head at the praise. She had the ability to be able to make even the most legendary military men become afraid of her, and made her feel like the immortal she was slowly becoming. 

“Ser Jaime is not here, I know not where he is, but in the meantime, walk with me, Randyll.” Cersei says. She descends from the throne, and offers Lord Tarly her arm, which he takes and they walk together. The Queensguard men rush to her side, but Cersei raises her hand to them, and they stay back. 

They walk out to the balcony, looking out onto the city of King's Landing, the land where conquerors and royalty rules, and she feels like it’s hers, like it belongs to her, along with every person in the land. This is what power feels like and it rushes her, making her feel alive.

“Lord Tarly, children can be a blessing and a curse, can’t they? My children are dead, and I will have the heads of everyone that did them harm.” She says, and then holds up the head of Ellaria Sand. He nods to her, perhaps he’s starting to understand. 

“You had an older son as well, if I'm not mistaken. Did he die?” Cersei asks. Randyll starts with a vicious scowl, that tells her she hit home with that question. 

“Samwell, is his name. He’s a craven boy, I sent him to the wall rather than kill him.” Randyll says.

“If the boy refused, I would have killed him, such a craven he is. He is going to be a Maester.” Randyll says in nearly a low growl, the same tone her Lord Father would use to talk about Tyrion. 

“Westeros needs Maesters, do they not, Lord Tarly?” Cersei asks. 

“Not from House Tarly.” Randyll replies. She nods, in understanding, the name Tarly inspires fear on the battlefield, and the mention of a Maester could diminish the reputation of such a powerful house.

“I need the head of Sansa Stark, Lord Tarly, I shall seldom sleep until you deliver it to me. Can you lead my armies North, and bring me her head, My Lord?” Cersei asks. Randyll gulps.

“I don’t know your grace, it’s a frigid cold that comes from the north, and they do have less men than we do together. But they know those lands.” Randyll replies.

“Do not mistake me, My Lord. You will lead the armies. Remove the head of Sansa Stark and bring it to me. I care not for excuses, did I make a mistake to call you to King's Landing? I did not take you for a craven.” Cersei replies. Randyll stiffens and then changes his tone.

“As long as your men are well provisioned and well trained, I suspect we shall do well. They went to war with each other recently, that creates a prime opportunity for us to take them. But what will happen if we march north to Winterfell, and they decide to march south and come for you, and what of the Dragon Queen, Your Grace?” Tarly asks. She flexes her fingers fearfully, but takes care to not let it show on her face. 

“We have plans for the Dragon Queen, My Lord. Her dragon was wounded by a spear in Mereen, we have the scorpions that Dorne used to beat back the Targaryens...I am the daughter of Tywin Lannister, you should know.” Cersei replies, and if her words have swayed Lord Tarly, she knows not. 

“Very Well, Your Grace. I shall do as you ask. We are not the Andals, but I don’t suspect that we will fail. We are thirty thousand strong, and they are eighteen thousand fighters, and that includes those godforsaken Wildlings. We can take them, and it would be my honor, Your Grace.” Randyll replies. 

She dismisses Lord Tarly, but little do either of them know, Dickon heard the whole conversation…

_________________________________________________

  
  
  
  


The carriage rolled to a jerking stop, causing a sleeping Margaery to be tossed to the floor of the carriage. Her blue eyes widened with fear as she dazedly got up from the floor and listened to the muffled conversation going on outside.The door opened revealing her brother and some people of the north, they took one look at her and realized the gravity of the situation. “Garlan.” Margaery cried as nausea quickly overcame.

“Marg.” Garlan replied as his brown eyes filled with concern as he raced over to her side as she violently vomited over the edge of the carriage and something wet trailed down her legs that made her suddenly weaker. Garlan swiped her up in his arms as he glanced at his cousins once more to make sure they were okay. “Get her help we will be okay.” Alla said comfortingly to Garlan.

“Thanks.” He said as one of the northern guards ushered him forward as he left the carriage and his horse behind. They walked into the castle known as Winterfell,“I’ll get the maester and the king in the north.” The guard said as he motioned him into a set of chambers that had a fire going thankfully. He walked out of the room leaving Garlan to set his sister down on the bed and watch helplessly as she curled into a ball on the mattress. Her cries of pain were like daggers to his heart, knowing he should have stopped his father’s dream of Marg being a queen.

A maester rushed in pushing Garlan away from his sister, “How long has she been like this?” he asked. Garlan sighed racking his brain for anything that could help, “This just started today.” Garlan replied as he winced hearing another loud cry from his sister. The master nodded his head and turned back to examine his sister. Garlan closed his eyes, knowing he should have stopped more to make sure she was okay. “That’s Ser Garlan and the woman on the bed is his sister Margaery.” The guard said, causing him to get out of his mind.

Garlan opened his eyes and met the gaze of Jon Snow, the king of the north. “Everyone believes her to be dead, yet here she is.” Jon said as he looked over at the crying woman on the bed.

“I got to her before the sept of Baelor blew, though sadly I wasn’t able to save our brother Loras or our father.” Garlan admitted sadly. Jon stiffened as he looked back at the famous knight standing before him looking defeated. “Your sister is suffering from a miscarriage. She will be good in a few days as long as she remains in bed for now and eats.” Maester Wolkan said, as Garlan sighed a sigh of relief. “Thank you maester.” Garlan said tiredly as Jon flinched with the knowledge of a miscarriage.

The maester bowed his head and walked out of the room. “May I ask why you came here to the north?’ Jon asked as Garlan stepped out of the chambers his sister was currently sleeping in. “Margaery at one point was very close friends with your sister Sansa, the north is safer than kings landing right now, and because we want to form an alliance with the north.” Garlan replied as they entered into his solar. Jon sighed as he nodded his head in acknowledgement of everything Garlan was saying. 

“Does Queen Margaery understand that the north will not accept her as my consort?” Jon asked as they continued walking to his solar. Ser Garlan looked Jon in the eye, “Our father was the one who pushed her to become queen. When she was younger, she never dreamed of wearing a crown. So, yes she will gladly give up her crown after everything she has been through.” Ser Garlan replied honestly. Jon nodded his head in understanding, “Lady Catelyn Stark also filled my sister Sansa with the same dreams.” Jon said with a chuckle shaking his head at the irony. 

“The reach has food that I know the north desperately needs and we have more than a thousand battle ready men.” Ser Garlan said as Jon sighed. Garlan could see that Jon was contemplating the alliance. “What would you want in return?” Jon asked with a raise of his eyebrow. “Cersei dead, the protection of my cousins and my sister.” Garlan said through clenched teeth as Jon nodded his head. “Then we have an alliance. I am honored to be able to fight alongside a knight of your skill.” Jon said as he held out his hand that Garlan happily clapped as they shook on their new found alliance. 

Garlan shook his head at that, “I hear that you have the skill set of Rhaegar Targaryen. If you would give me the honor of sparing with me later, I would be honored, your grace.” Garlan replied, causing Jon to raise an eyebrow at the older brother of Margaery Tyrell. Garlan smiled in a teasing and challenging sort of smile, as he looked into Jon’s grey eyes. “It would be an honor, Ser Garlan Tyrell.” Jon said with a shake of his head, realizing that he and Garlan would become fast friends through shared experience and sense of protecting family, or at the least, not enemies.

_____________________________________

  
  


The shell of the woman formerly known as Catelyn Stark stares at the flames, hoping to see some glimpse of what will be taking place in the future. 

Seeing the snow reminds of her of the summer snows in the North, but she’s not that woman anymore. Vengeance should be her name, but she is called Lady Stoneheart. 

Truly, she only stands in front of the flame to seem human, but she feels neither the warmth nor the cold upon her grey skin. It’s time for the brotherhood to report what they have seen to her. 

A few men enter the tent, shivering and shaking, wondering why she isn’t cold. 

She’s not human anymore, not really, that’s why. Now it’s time to follow the flames, that seems to be the only thing that can keep her going.

“My lady.” A man says kneeling before her. She blinks at him, before moving her pale white hairs out of her face so that she can see him better. 

She nods to the kneeling member of the brotherhood. “I saw a pack of wolves...scratching and playing, nipping at each other and protecting each other. Then they split and found more wolves, ever a pack and one wolf was crippled. They were led by one wolf that seemed to be running in circles, like he didn’t know who he was. Together, that pack of wolves grew strong, but there was something different about the wolf that led them.” 

She covers her throat and croaks out a response. “Color?” Was all she said to the man.

“White, My Lady, the leader of the pack was white with red eyes like rubies. He had a crown on his hea...”

Lady Stoneheart stabbed the man in the throat, leaving him to bleed out on the ground of her tent. The brotherhood comes in and takes the body away, unsure of what to make of her decision to kill him. 

_ That bastard is back at Winterfell _ …

Next, three men come forth, dragging the giant body of Sandor Clegane forward, squirming all the while. “What the fuck is…” The Hound says while the men take off his hood and kick him to the ground in front of the Lady Stoneheart. “This?” The Hound finishes, looking over her pale flesh and hair, she just blinks at him and his eyes start to go towards the flame. 

“My Lady, this was reported as the last person to see Arya Stark before she disappeared.” A man says, as she nods and waves them off. It leaves just the two of them in the tent. 

“Arya,” she croaks out, with a hand over her throat once more. 

The Hound tells her the story of how Arya escaped King’s Landing, and then found herself in his company. They made it to the Twins just in time for the Red Wedding, and they made it to the Vale just in time to find out of Lysa’s death. How he fought Lady Brienne, looking for Arya, and lost. Then she left him to die, and somehow he didn’t. 

She listens intently, while the Hound narrows his eyes at her, but then his eyes get fixated on the flame. 

She was ready to kill him, but she can tell that he sees something. 

“See?” She says, hoarsely and barely making it out of her mouth, the scar on her throat ever present. 

“I see myself, a dog, walking alongside a White Wolf. We are beyond the Wall and there are thousands and thousands of dead men walking towards the place where the Wall meets the sea.” The Hound says, fearfully. 

Beric stands up now out of the corner and speaks to her. “My Lady, the Lord of Light has given us our purpose, we must go to the Wall and find these dead men, perhaps we ought to keep Clegane alive, he is a good fighter.” Beric walks up closer to her, and whispers in her ear.

“You may not like it, but the wolves of the North are closer to the Wall than you’d like, you may be able to find out more there, without drawing too much attention. Consider it, My Lady.” Beric whispers in her ear. 

She nods to him and he frees Sandor from his bindings. 

Thoros comes in, drinking rum per usual, and looks around at the three of them, “Where to, My Lady?” Thoros asks. 

“Wall.” She replies, there is something that she ought to find out, and Lady Stoneheart will find out why that Bastard had returned to Winterfell, if it’s the last thing that she does.

_ The only other thing that bothers her, is why would there be so many wolves? _

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, back with another chapter. We hope you enjoy it!

“Let me look at you.” Lord Eddard says to Arya, searching her face, and closer than anyone has been to her in a while without being killed. His rough hands rove over her face and he feels her hands and shoulders. 

“You are a woman grown, and still not yet a lady.” He says as they both laugh. A serious tone returns to his face, and he knows something is up with her, not saying so readily. The rest of the family she hardly knows is greeting her, and there’s something comforting about the fact that she has a family, and that Lady Lyanna, although being a lady, is just as much a wolf as she is, seemingly. 

Her Lord Father leans and whispers to her, “I know a hardened soldier when I see one. You look through every corridor for threats, and you see everything, as if you are still at war with someone or something. I’d ask you all about it, but you tell me in your own time, but you will tell me. Am I understood, Arya Stark?” Her father says. She nods, “yes father.” After meeting them all, and seeing Sansa again, she still feels like she doesn’t quite belong there, even though it should be home. 

Robb is the last to greet her, he does so apprehensively, and with sadness all over his face. “I’m sorry Arya, I was wearing that damned crown of winter, and I couldn’t do a thing for my own blood. I was so scared that we didn’t hear about you at all. You escaped?” Robb asked, she nods. 

“I tried to get home. I found some unlikely friends, and then we made it just in time for Uncle Edmure’s wedding. I saw everything…” She says, and lets the somber winds linger in the Godswood, neither of them wanting to add to the situation.

“As soon as I get a moment’s peace, I am going to kill them. Every Frey I get my hands on.” Robb says with a hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure him. 

She hugs him, holding him close, and tells him. “I already killed them all, dear brother. Winter came for house Frey. Sansa and Jon killed the Boltons. We loved you, and we love you still. We hadn’t seen each other for years, and yet we are still a pack. Never forget that.” Arya says, trying to make herself believe that. Robb’s eyes widen beyond belief and he just looks back at her, before she tells him what she did, “I’ll tell you all about it later. I can’t just say this stuff in front of father. And you know the rules, don't tell Sansa!” She says and leaves him standing there down founded.

  
  


She’s torn between her family, and her list. Arya loves them, of that there is no doubt, but there is this need she has to kill. It’s almost like a prayer, a wish, or a dream. She needs it, but does she need it more than her family?

Only Jon would probably understand. She seeks him out. He has his own issues now, being King and surviving winter. The Dreadful tales of the White Walkers were something straight from Old Nan’s mouth, but that doesn’t make it false. Beric Dondarrion rose from the dead right before her eyes, she’ll not so easily dismiss that, even as her Lord Father has returned to her.

Arya was shocked to see her long lost family again. Her heart was as cold as the winter chill in the air, but it’s starting to soften, when she realizes she has a family again, after so many years being desolate, isolated, and alone. It’s a lot to take in. There were few of them left, so she thought and now it feels like she’s not needed in Winterfell anymore. She gave them cordial smiles, but Arya feels more like a lone wolf than a Stark. 

She sneaks into Jon’s room, where she can tell that something is still heavy on his mind, and perhaps she may be the only one to cheer him up, he always was the one that would see her for who she was, rather than projecting their desires upon her.. 

The only other thing is that there is still that itch, that can only be scratched by killing Cersei. 

That’s really why she came here to Jon’s room, she needed to be honest with him, and it feels like he’s the only one that won’t judge her. 

Jon musses her hair and calls her “little sister,” even through his painful expression. She just smiles.

“You have seen death, brother of mine. I know that expression well,” and Jon just looks up with wonder. “I came to tell you about me...you are the only one I feel comfortable with…” She says fidgeting in nervousness. 

She explains to him her time as an assassin. Escaping King’s Landing with Yoren and the Brotherhood with Banners, and the Hound. Her time in Braavos, learning to be a mummer and a faceless man. Then what she did to the Freys, followed by the deepest secret she has, her list. She couldn’t bear to tell her Lord Father this, but it’s true all the same.

Jon just contemplates, and she loves him even more because there is no judgment on his face as he ponders on what she says. Jon stares her into her eyes, the deep piercing gaze, just like a direwolf, as he thinks about their conversation. 

“You don’t understand, do you?” She asks. 

“You want to leave now, and kill her, even if you would die in the process?” Jon asks.

She nods.

“I have seen too many people that I have cared for die in front of me. We have just regained our family and you would be selfish enough for us to lose you?” Jon asked, this time not holding back the harshness of reality. Arya’s grey eyes widened in shock, as tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. “Your choices not only affect you, it affects everyone. Believe me, that was a hard lesson for me to learn but a lesson nonetheless.” Jon said, as Arya turned her head to the side. Not knowing if she could hear anymore of the lecture her brother was currently giving her. She glances over to him and their stubborn natures get the better of them, as they don’t back down, staring into each other’s eyes and not wavering their focus.

“Look, Arya, do you know what it’s like to feel the embrace of death, turning your body cold and numb, and the only thing you can think of is all of the things that you should have done, and trying not to regret your whole life, and cursing the day your were born? Well I have, and I’ll tell you this, I helped save the Wildlings from a fate worse than death, where they would have been cold, blue-eyed corpses with a singular purpose, but the only thing upon my mind when I died, was that I failed to protect you and my family. You were the only thing I could think of, when death came for me. There are times where I still feel like a dead man. So I’m going to make it simple for you. Our family is alive, thank the Old Gods, or the New, or The Lord of Light, or whoever helped us to right this situation. Don’t take that lightly.” Jon stated, examining his little sister’s nervous expression. 

“I know death, I have delivered many to his doorstep. And I understand where you are coming from, I’m just telling you that it was this obsession with revenge that saved me, it’s what I breathe in and breathe out, and I will kill that bitch.” Arya said, still determined. Looking away from him, not even for a second allowing the meaning behind his words sink into her mind.

“Look, Arya, I love you, and your stubborn attitude, and you need to know that I will back whatever you do, truly, but if you die, I will kill everyone involved, just like you did to the Freys, and even if I survive, I will not be me anymore. I am barely still Jon Snow at this very moment. So, I’m not asking you not to go to King’s Landing to kill Cersei, I’m asking you to be my little sister, Arya Stark, because that is what I need to still be me, because I am barely hanging on to who or what I am at this very moment.” Jon says as he messes her hair with his hand, just like he always used to do when they were children. She says nothing in return, and mostly keeps an impassive face the entire time, but a tear makes its way down her face and she doesn’t wipe it away before it hits the ground, shining in the light of the torches.

“You always have a way with words don’t you? Damn you, big brother.” Arya says, as she hugs him fervently, and they seem to melt into each other. “Your life is about as dark as mine,” Jon says, into her ear while still embracing her. Not sure if he wanted to let her go, fearing that she would somehow vanish in his arms. “Why else do you think we’ve always gotten along?” She asked, trying to hold together her sobs in between words.

“I’ve never been able to count on anyone in my life, Arya. Not a single person. My family failed me, and I feel like I failed them. I am still coming to grips with that, but I will ask you one time and one time only, can I count on you? If I can’t it would just break the last pieces of my heart, and I am not fit to be a King in that condition.” Jon said, with lament, and great sadness, making her colder than the familiar winter drafts of the north. She had always forgotten that there was one person that existed, with the same disposition that she had, and it makes her feel more alive than she had in a long time.

She now remembers that this was the entire reason that she could not become No One, and apparently that reason’s name is Jon Snow. A difficult thing to reconcile, but it’s certainly comforting to know that even going through all the hells that one could imagine and nearly tearing herself apart, to become someone else, there is still someone that understands her.

_________________________________________________________________

_ “My beautiful girl, I am so proud of you.” A woman with a similar build to Dany said. Daenerys looked at her with wide eyes. This woman who stood before her, had long curly silver-golden hair and had indigo eyes. Daenerys felt tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked at her with longingly, “Mother, is that you?” She asked her in both disbelief and hope. The woman nodded her head causing Daenerys to cry out in happiness as she threw herself into her mother’s arms.  _

_ Her mother caught her around the waist pulling her closer to her chest as Daenerys sobbed into the crock of her mother’s neck. “I have prayed to all the gods that this moment would come to pass. Now here you are when I need you.” Daenerys said through a sniffle as she stepped back just a little. She still held her mother making sure this was actually real and not some dream, she feared that her mother would slip away. “I’m so sorry my baby girl that you had to suffer as much as you did just to get back home.” Rhaella said sadly. _

_ Daenerys could see the sadness clear in her mother’s eyes, “What happened to me is not your fault. If it's anyone’s fault it's the man who would have had me call him father.” Daenerys said with honesty shining in her violet eyes. Rhaella’s indigo eyes widened in surprise at her daughter’s admission, knowing that every word she said was the truth.  _

_ “When you were born, there was a terrible storm, you know this right?” Rhaella says to her daughter. Daenerys smiles and nods. “It was strange, I felt the pangs of your birth and then the sky fell out, as if the sky was angry. I thought that might mean you’d have a bit of a temper, I must admit.”  _

_ “I do, they call me Stormborn after all...” Daenerys replies quickly, but her mother only smiles at her. “I have learned since to direct it at those that would harm the innocent, or try to take away their freedom. Anger makes you stupid if not used properly.” She says as she gives her mother’s hand a squeeze. _

_ “You are wise like your brother Rhaegar.” Rhaella said as more tears rolled down her cheeks holding onto her daughter tighter. Daenerys closed her eyes as she took in the lilac scent of her mother and the comforting embrace she offered without expecting anything in return. “I need you mother, now more than ever.” Daenerys whispered into her mother’s ear. Hoping beyond hope that the gods would somehow grant her other wish of giving her her mother back. Daenerys was not ready not to say goodbye and she wasn’t sure if she ever would be. _

  
  


_ Daenerys stepped out of her mother’s arms, she grabbed her hands. “This is just a dream isn't it?” Daenerys asked, as she searched her mother’s indigo eyes in hope. Rhaella smiled a wet sad smile as she interlocked her fingers with her daughter. “If this is a dream, then it's the best dream I could ask for.” Rhaella said in happiness. A third set of hands set themselves on top of Rhaella and Daenerys’, taking both of them by surprise and shock. A scream could be heard tearing the three of them apart startling them. A blinding light shines and beams of light are shining through the dream, like sunlight after a terrible storm.  _

Daenerys woke suddenly with a loud gasp as she sat bolt up right in her bed, sweat drenched her night clothes, the linens, and the blankets that covered her. Her wet hair clung to her face and her heart beat fast in her chest causing some pain as she tried to figure out what her dream meant. All the dreams that she had ever had always had some sort of message behind them and always somehow came true. Daenerys took a deep breath to calm herself down as she closed her eyes trying to examine the dream, only to have the hair on the back of her neck stand on end alerting her to the fact that someone was watching her.

She looks up and there is a beautiful girl standing there almost like a shimmer of light, but she looks so much like her and her mother that it feels real. “Stormborn.” The woman says, eyeing with the same violet pupils that she sees when she looks into the mirror. 

“Who are you?” Daenerys asks. The woman just gives her a half smile. “I’m a gift and a curse, not unlike you. I see you’ve been busy, gaining power, and earning followers. But yet, it’s not home is it?” The woman says to her. 

Daenerys just gulps, it feels just like the dreams of Drogon that she had before, when he was just a black shadow, invading her dreams every night and preparing her for what she must do. The last time she had that sense of dread, she had to burn her husband… The mysterious woman has just as serious a look on her face as when she saw Rheagar in the house of the Undying. 

“Relax, Daenerys Stormborn, I’m a fellow dreamer like you. I was listening intently to the song of ice and fire before I came here to you. Home is where the love is, the real love that burns with passion of the heart, almost like Fire and Blood, I’d say. I am Daenys, a fellow dreamer, I see you and all that you represent. I have seen you laugh and cry, fight and love, live and dream. I think that you are much like me, but you will survive your calamity.” Daenys says.

She still looks on intently, at this woman that seems to be reading her every thought. “You represent the dragons, and you shall meet the hidden dragon, hidden beneath the fur of a wolf in this song, a dreadful song at times, but often beautiful.” I brought with me a gift, unlike any that you would ever know, other than perhaps your dragon eggs.

“What is this gift you speak of, Daenys the dreamer?” Daenerys asks. 

“So goes the song of ice and fire, ice melts, freezes and thaws. It brings with it the winds of winter. Fire burns, consumes, and crushes, made to reduce a stone to rubble. Ice and fire come and become a steaming mist, with a storm of emotion that can crush even the most foul of evils. Wolves have been reborn, and now, so shall one of the dragons, a flame that burned out before it’s time.” Daenys says, still shimmering with light. Her body then disappears into the night, just like a shadow, underneath the veil of darkness. 

“What is she saying to me?” Daenerys asks quietly, in nearly a silent whisper. Then the flames of her candles burn brighter, and some that were not previously lit are blazing. Suddenly she turns around and looks at the torches near her bed hanging on the wall, and they too are alight, shining like a crown jewel in the darkness. 

A hand appears to be reaching for her, not fervently but as if someone needs help. It’s an ethereal hand that she just stares at in wonder. The fading hand reaches out farther towards her and grabs her hand, causing her to scream as loud as she can. The sound of the apparition screaming echoes and the apparition starts to solidify and continues to reach for Daenerys, both of them steadily screaming.

The candles light brighter. 

A guard opens the door. 

“My Queen!” The Unsullied guard yells, but is drowned out by the screaming already taking place. The apparition glows brighter, still reaching out towards Daenerys in the corner, and the reaching arm turns into a shoulder then an upper body and head, and then a full body comes out of the screeching apparition, like a tear in the fabric of reality. The screaming slows down as the Queen mother, Rhaella is brought forth from the apparition, breathing hard and staring into the eyes of her daughter, and then they embrace each other as if they had known each other all their lives.

“Your dreams do come true after all.” Rhaella whispers in her ear. 

Now with a flare of emotions, the likes of which had never been experienced by Daenerys, outside of her dreams, even if only for a moment, all is right with the world…

________________________________________________________________

Jon frowned as he silently stared into the darkness of his chambers, the only light that flickered came from the fire burning in the hearth. Anger, disbelief, sadness, and uncertainty filled him,  _ who was he now if not Eddard Stark’s son.  _ Jon thought to himself as he balled his hands into fists at his side.  _ He is the trueborn son of Lyanna and Rhaegar. Th _ e _ two people who were responsible for the seven kingdoms going to war, were his parents. _ Jon tells himself as he shakes his head in both shock and disgust. All this, and yet he is still expected to be a King.

_How did his mother and father think he was supposed to feel about knowing he was the cause of so much death?_ _His mother looked at the man she had chosen to raise me with a look of murder in her eyes._ Jon thought to himself as he angrily turned away from the hearth to try to find solace or answers in the water jug Sansa had had a maid bring to his chambers earlier. He shakingly grabbed the goblet that stood in front of the water jug and held it as he poured the fresh cold water into it. _He had been led to believe all his life that all his desires to lead were an ill-mannered attempt at squashing his siblings birthright._ Jon thought to himself as he closed his eyes, his grip tightened on the goblet in his hands. 

He took a couple deep breaths to calm these raging thoughts in his mind, he opened his eyes and drank the cold water greedily. He filled the goblet once more as he placed the jug back down on the table near his bed, he walked over to his bed and paused in surprise. A brand new jerkin and tunic lay on his bed, he knew right away where these new clothes had come from Sansa. Jon groaned, knowing that in the morning he would have to find some way of apologizing to her for earlier.

He didn’t consider himself kingly material before, but then Sansa had come to Castle Black, needing saving; he couldn’t very well leave her to the Boltons. Back then, he’d considered himself to be the son of Eddard Stark. He clenched his fist in anger at the thought of being lied to his whole life. 

The door to his bedchambers creaked open at precisely the wrong time, and he glanced over at Longclaw, wondering if he would be tested to his boundaries. “Whoever wishes to interrupt my peace must have a death wish then,” Jon said, without turning around. 

“You wouldn’t murder your own mother now would you?” Lyanna replied with a smile appearing on her lips.

Jon turned to look at his mother.  _ This is going to take some time to get used to,  _ he thought to himself before he smiled at her, but he was only able to bring a frown to his lips.

“My apologies, I’m not quite prepared for-” he tried to say, but stopped when his eyes gazed past his mother; he saw a silver-haired man staring at him as if his face held all the secrets in Westeros.

“I don’t know what I can say other than I am proud of the man that you’ve become. You already are pulling weeds out of this blood-stained garden we live in.” Rhaegar Targaryen said, slightly stammering.

“Well aren’t you just a bleeding poet?” Jon growled with a small bit of anger.

“That he is,” his mother interjected, trying to lower the tension.

“Forgive me, but I can’t help to feel like you’re the reason why thousands died; it still doesn’t seem as though it was worth it.”

“That couldn’t be farther from the truth, but you’re the most important person in the world, especially to us, my son,” Rhaegar replied, looking at him.

“Your father speaks the truth, he sent the best knights in Westeros to the Dorne, just for you, knowing he wouldn’t return,” Lyanna said next.

Jon closed his eyes, trying not to let his emotions get to him. Anger, sadness, confusion, and questioning all came together to form a realization. He wasn’t even Jon Snow anymore, but that was the only thing he saw when he saw himself in the mirror. Jon shoved both of them off of him, causing Lyanna and Rhaegar to look at him with hurt plain in their eyes. “So important that you didn’t give the same protection or care for your other children or Elia.” Jon replied questioningly at both of his parents.

“I made a lot of mistakes, and I will always deeply regret what happened to Elia and our children, but I could not do a thing for my father’s madness, nor the ruthlessness of Tywin Lannister.” Rhaegar said with shame shining in his indigo eyes. Jon nodded his head in respect for his father, that he was able to admit his failings. His mother, Lyanna looked at him with wide eyes and hurt reflected in them. “Rhaegar and I wrote a letter to my family telling them where I was.” Lyanna said, causing Jon to look at her with a raised eyebrow. 

“I am glad to hear it. Doesn’t change the fact that you solely blame my father for me being at the wall.” Jon responded back as Lyanna scoffed. Jon’s grey eyes narrowed on her, “Rhaegar is your father, Ned is your uncle.” Lyanna corrected hotly. There was that look again, that his “mother” got every time someone said his father was Eddard. 

“If I am not mistaken you handed me over to him and asked him to take care of me.” Jon snarked back causing Lyanna to step back as if she had been slapped. Rhaegar stiffened at the truth behind Jon’s words as he turned to look at his wife.

“You left him in a bind that he didn’t know how to deal with. His father and Brother had just died, Robert had betrayed him by the killings of Elia, Aegon, and Rhaenys, he had to marry his brother’s fiancé, then he finds out that the whole of the rebellion had been a lie, and he loses you as well. He isn’t perfect like you.” Jon said, explaining to his mother the reality of the weight she had placed on Ned. 

“I never claimed to be perfect.” Lyanna whispered, as tears streamed down her cheeks learning more of what Ned had to go through. “No, but you expect that from the man you chose to raise me and insult him all the same, while he doesn’t do the same to you.” Jon said with honesty. Lyanna closed her eyes as she placed her fingers on the temple of her forehead; this was not how she had envisioned this meeting going between her and her son. 

  
  


“I’m sorry. You're my son and I never wanted you to go to the Wall.” Lyanna said as she opened her eyes and looked at her son pleading with him to give her a chance. Jon shook his head he would like to hug her and tell her all would be well. But, no matter how much she wanted to deny or sweep it away Eddard Stark was his father and he didn’t see that changing just because it wasn’t his seed who sired him.

“It's not just me you must apologize to, the man who you call my uncle deserves one as well.” Jon replied as he waited for her response. “I will.” Lyanna said as she cautiously moved towards him. 

“Good because you are my parents, but he will always be my father, and you will have to find a way to get along with him, because that’s not ever changing, as angry as I may be with him, I don’t know either of you.” Jon said warningly to both Lyanna and Rhaegar. Rhaegar nodded his head with a smile appearing on his lips as Lyanna sighed and raked a nervous hand through her long wild dark brown hair. 

“Now, I’d like to warn you that the Long Night is coming upon us…” Rhaegar says looking at his son. 

“Don’t I know it?” Jon replies, Rhaegar looks up with curiosity at that. 

“What have you seen, did you have dreams too?” Rhaegar then proceeds to ask, his indigo eyes peaked open with curiosity. “The only dreams I had were...nevermind...not about that. It was beyond the Wall that I saw this, there are so many of them that we don’t stand a chance.”

Jon tells him the stories from beyond the Wall, the moves that he tried to make to ensure the survival of Westeros, as well as the betrayals he faced. Then how he died and came to be the King in the North. Rhaegar and Lyanna listened without wavering, but grimaces made it on both of their faces upon the mention of his death and being brought back by the Red Woman. It’s a tale that not many would believe. Disbelief never even flashed on their faces.

Rhaegar is tapping his fingers on a table in silent thought. 

“You’ll have to decide then, will you be a wolf with scales, or a dragon with white fur? Either way, you should have some understanding of why you never fit in. You are my son, through and through, and I’ll be there with you, wherever your path takes you.”

Rhaegar neither gets too close nor too far from Jon and they stare at each other, both looking for any sign of emotion, and it’s Lyanna that breaks the tension. 

“I know you have anger, it’s only natural, but both of us died to keep you safe from harm. Neither of us is blameless in this madness, I’m afraid. We may have made some mistakes, but we are here and we love you. There is not much more I can say, my son.” She says and hugs him, allowing the tension to ease and the three of them enjoy their first real talk as a family. 

“So you got a letter with a three headed-dragon sigil on it. You are claiming House Targaryen already?” Rhaegar asked Jon. He shakes his head.

“Daenerys Targaryen has landed at Dragonstone with a large fighting force and three dragons. It would seem that she wants to meet with me and form an alliance, she already has Dorne, the Reach and the Iron Islands. Tyrion Lannister is her Hand. A decent man, when last I knew him.” 

“Daenerys, that was the name my mother wanted to give to my younger sister. It gladdens my heart to hear she survived. I suppose you will want to meet with her then?” Rhaegar asked. 

“She has a large army, she’s not mad like Cersei, and she has invited me, now she is my aunt, and she has three dragons. It would not do to ignore her, that’s for certain.” Jon replies.

“Well said. I should very much like to meet all that is left of my family. I have my son and my sister, alive in this cold world, and they called me the Last Dragon.” Rhaegar says smiling, and he puts his arm around Lyanna's waist. It was the happiest she has felt in quite a while.

_______________________________________________________

The snow fell heavily around him, marking the thickest winter in Robb’s memory.  _ He couldn’t remember a winter quite like this, but then again it was the words of his house after all.  _ Robb shakes his head as he looks over his shoulder to see his father and uncle Brandon in a heated discussion about the time he had missed. It should be cold enough to unnerve anyone who had never dealt with winter or cold before, but Robb and his family members feel both comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time.

Snow falls heavily, marking the thicket of winter in full effect. It should be cold enough to unnerve anyone else, but the Starks feel right at home with the crisp air, accompanied by the northmen and family. Robb feels comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. The Stark family watches the Northern bannermen coming to Winterfell, trying not to feel bitter at the betrayals from the houses that were sworn to follow House Stark. Perhaps there was a failure of leadership, and that’s the price they paid. 

Still not reassuring. Betrayal is betrayal. The Boltons are gone, but he wants to see Roose’s face once more, so that he can kill him himself. Also the Freys...

Winter is Coming, that feels like more than just words at this point. 

“So you raised the boy as your bastard, Ned?” Brandon asks. His Lord Father nods in reply.

“Wasn’t Robert your friend? You would hide Lyanna’s son from him and so, Robert became King. He sounds like he was no better than the Mad King! I’d pierce that rat bastard with Ice if he would lay hands on one of us, even if he is half Targaryen. He is our blood, and we will protect one of our own.” Brandon says.

“I fought by Robert’s side because you and father were dead, I believed our sister had been kidnapped and raped by Rhaegar. I did the best that I could, Brandon, I was Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I did not want to lose my children the same way that I lost you and Father…” His father says to his Uncle. Brandon spits on the ground.

“That’s no King if you had to fear war from him and you were supposed to be his best friend. You marched happily down to King’s Landing and still lost your head, to a dimwitted Lannister at that. You should have done something to protect our house, Eddard Stark, did you learn nothing from our Lord Father?” Brandon asks. 

“Not to pick fights you can’t win, Brandon, he told us that many times. I was sent to Lord Jon Ayrrn as a young boy, so I learned very little from our Lord Father besides that, you were meant to be the Lord of Winterfell, and the burden was thrust upon my shoulders.” Father replies, causing his uncle Brandon to take a couple steps back away from his father looking at him he had slapped him. “Father is right uncle Brandon. Lord Jon Arryn raised him where grandfather barely did,” Robb says, with a shake of his head. Clearly his uncle had forgotten that piece of information. 

A small host of Night’s watchmen with a carriage approaches the castle, and Robb sees Summer, and he’s thanking the Gods that his reports of Bran and Rickon dying were false. He hasn’t been announced to the Lords of the North just yet, so they are playing the role of Stark Guards, their faces concealed by battle helms, steel and leather. 

Sansa comes and brings them to the Great Hall.

“Let’s do this then…” Robb says to his family. They nod apprehensively. Jon is standing outside of the Great Hall with, ushering them forward, and they go to stand near the door listening in, and prepared to announce their return from death.

Maester Wolkan comes forth with a raven, from the Citadel, and Jon’s eyes light up when he sees a raven from Samwell Tarly. “You are friends with a Tarly?” Robb asks, Jon, eliciting from him a brief smile that he hadn’t seen recently. The familiar, somber mood washes over his face again as they get ready to face the Lords,then Jon goes into the Great Hall and begins the meeting with the Northern Lords.. The other Starks stand side by side outside the Great Hall together, and they see Jon trudge over to the table, astonished that he is the King, and although it has been explained many times over, Robb still feels uncertain about that fact.

_ Good thing he loves his brother, well, cousin..actually. _

With Samwell Tarly’s raven scroll in hand, Jon sits at the head table, and the meeting begins.  _ Being a king is very burdensome, and now he realizes why people have said that crowns are heavy. This is nothing like the Night’s Watch, and he’s only speaking for one kingdom out of seven, knowing little about the other six, this brother of his could be King of the Seven Kingdoms if he realizes his birthright, and they thought he had none. _ He thinks to himself looking over at the northern lords that were assembling into the great hall of Winterfell once more. _ The lords are now looking to him for guidance and he must be the one to break the news. _

“I got a letter from my brother at the Night’s Watch, Samwell Tarly, a man I trust with my life. He mentions that there is dragonglass at Dragonstone, boatloads of it. I also got a letter inviting me to treat with Daenerys Targaryen, and form an alliance. It was sent by Tyrion Lannister, with her offer being of possible marriage.” He said, letting the implications of the announcement take effect in the Great Hall. They murmur amongst themselves and then Jon continues.

“My Lords, we have much to discuss. First, there are...others besides me...that are here that were previously dead.” He says as the Lords start to look confused at his choice of words. He wants to reveal his parents to the Lords, but it doesn’t seem like a good time to bring Rhaegar Targaryen forth before the Northern Lords. The Starks will have to do. “First, my mother...” He said, looking at the northern lords. Lyanna Stark removed her helmet, shocking the crowd present. “Lady Lyanna Stark…” Most of the Northern Lords said, with a tune of awe and wonder. Though the northern lords looked at Lady Lyann with suspicion and began talking amongst themselves. Jon glanced at his real father, seeing that his indigo eyes were glazed over with a look of steel, still concealed under that helmet bothered Jon very much. It reminded him of when he had to do the same when people would mummer about him being a bastard. Not a good look when they would likely try to harm the man for possibly causing the rebellion.

“I did not intend to spring this on you so suddenly but we have business and we must see it done, my Lords.” Jon said, quieting the increasing anger, slowly building in the great hall. Jon’s mother says to the Northern lord, “I’m sorry for all that you have been through, and I’m also elated that the lot of you chose my son to be your King. If you know that I am Jon’s mother, then you must also know that Jon is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen…”

Lord Royce is quick to his feet. He looks at Jon with a look of suspicion entering his light eyes. “Your Grace, We don’t know that we can trust a Targaryen, nor a Lannister, these houses have brought near ruin to Westeros, and you would side with them?” Lord Royce asked, as the northerners bang their mugs on the table. 

“How do you plan to survive the Winter? You think our thirty thousand troops will hold off the dead army, more than one hundred thousand strong? You crowned me King, and now you want to question my resolve to keep you alive, is that it?” He asked, as the northern lords.  _ Hating how stubborn these men can be. _ They look at Jon with defeat and respect as they begin to settle down their talks of outrage.

“I saw _ hoards of dead men all intent on turning us into them _ , they swarmed the living like locusts, and then they turn you into one of their soldiers, dead men walking, the same will happen to us, especially if we try to hold on to our old ways, in fact, I would side with the Mad King himself, over turning into one of those blue-eyed, singularly focused corpses.” Jon said, as the lords listened to him, they began to turn pale at the mention of the mad king.

“I have no love for the south, it’s true, however, the dragons can spew flames, and it would not hurt to have them on our side, we need fire and we need fighting men. We also can’t ignore the south forever, eventually they will come for us, and we had better be prepared, lest we go the way of ignorance. Furthermore, you all should know that Rhaegar Targaryen is no enemy of the North as previously thought, but my father, and Lyanna Stark my mother. I myself am a Targaryen, half Stark, aye, but still half a dragon’s blood.” Jon admitted,  _ he found himself accepting his birthright more and more as time passed. _

“Madness! We crowned a Targaryen? This is preposterous!” Lord Glover and Lord Cerwin shout, looking at their “king.” The other northern lords remain in their seat letting Jon know who has his back and who doesn’t.

_ Jon getting sick and tired of where this conversation was leading _ , he stands determinedly stares at each of the expressions playing on each of their faces.

“Aye, I’m a Targaryen. I remember each of you standing up and cheering the Bastard of Winterfell after saving your sorry asses. You did nothing to stop Ramsay Bolton, so you want his type of leadership here, that’s it? I didn’t ask you to crown me, but I am your best chance to survive the winter, the coldest one in a generation. So continue bickering if you like, but you have no means to survive the army of the dead, and Daenerys Targaryen has over one hundred thousand soldiers, and three dragons. Unless you can pull an army out of your asses, sit down and shut up.” Jon said, looking at the lords who remained standing, with a serious look in his grey eyes. Lords Glover and Cerwin sit back in their chairs looking ashamed. “Come forth.” Jon says to the rest of the previously dead Starks. Now Robb, Brandon, and Ned remove their helms.

The Great Hall erupts into a ruckus. 

They shout until Brandon, the Wild Wolf of Winterfell, unsheathes his sword and bangs it on the table in the Great Hall, forcing them all into silence. At the same time, Bran is brought forth with the bursting open of the doors to Great Hall, adding to the chaotic scenery. His little brother has a wheelchair, and is pushed by a young woman of Greywater Watch. 

Bran goes over to Jon and they embrace, but Robb doesn’t like Bran’s expression one bit. He looks like he hardened a bit since he was last skulking about Winterfell after his fall. Bran whispers in Jon’s ear and he can tell that Jon is shocked into silence. 

Bran comes forth and explains the entire situation to Northern Lords, as if he was here for all of it. They all listen intently as Bran explains everything to them, including their escape from the dead, the Children of the Forest, and Daenerys Targaryen’s return to Westeros, and Rickon’s whereabouts. The information is a lot to take in, especially as knowledgeable and aloof as Bran is, and no one says a word for a long while. 

“There is more, A large Lannister host is marching North, along with a fleet of Ironborn sailing to White Harbor.” Bran glances over to Sansa, “Cersei means to remove Sansa’s head from her body.” The men stand up at the mention of battle. 

“Now, I will ride for White Harbor to defend it against Euron Greyjoy, Lyanna Stark, and Arya Stark will accompany me on this mission. Ser Davos will stay at White Harbor for a time, and build the northern fleet with remaining ships from Stannis, once Lord Manderly is able to pick a second in command for Ser Davos, then the second part of our mission will begin. Build trenches and prepare for Randyll Tarly’s onslaught, show them the might of the Kings of Winter. The southerners want war, we need to be ready to defend against them. We will make our preparations, and then we will go. Eddard Stark will be in charge in my stead, and you will listen to him, as if it came from me.” Jon said, as the northern lords look at him with smiles. Jon and Ned nod to each other. 

“Robb Stark, you will go to Skagos and you will retrieve Rickon Stark and bring him here. You’ll go to him with Greywind, since we may need a direwolf to interact with Shaggydog.”

Jon stands as he walks down from the main table and begins walking among them, “I’ll ask you this, one time, and one time only. Are you still with me?” Jon asked with passion behind each word he said. The northern lords stand up and begin cheering with their swords drawn letting Jon know of their loyalty to him. “I’ll see a wolf on that blasted chair, might be time to put some honor in the south!” Lord Manderly says, raising a mug of ale. Some of the northern lords clap Jon on the shoulder as he walks by, he nods to them, as he begins to walk back to the head of the table, and takes a seat once more .

_______________________________

The sails of a golden archer upon a red background could be seen approaching at a steady pace against the crashing waves of the uncertain sea. Tyrion raised an eyebrow as he turned to his friend Varys, “It would seem you are right my friend.” Tyrion mushed as he took a long swig from the golden goblet he was becoming known to have. “You seem surprised.” Varys said with a surprising disappointed look crossing his dark eyes. But only for a second before the look vanished and he too turned away from Tyrion to look once more at the ships coming to Dragonstone. 

A long boat came into view, letting them know of one thing the ships had taken anchor in the deep part of the shore.  _ Whatever the Tarlys were here for, hopefully it was good news. _ Tyrion thought as he walked down the cliffside, his short curly dirty brown hair whipping in the sea breeze. Varys and two of the unsullied flanked behind him as they walked down to the shore knowing that they would have to represent the queen in this matter due to the surprise resurrection of Rhaella Targaryen. Tyrion shook his head as he swirled the sweet dark contents of the goblet still secure in his left hand trying to figure out this new mad world they seemed to have stepped into. 

“Barristan and the queen need to be told of the Tarlys being here.” Varys said, causing Tyrion to get out of his thoughts and his cup for a second. Tyrion groaned as a massive pounding headache throbbed against his skull, it was like someone was using a hacksaw to split open his skull from the inside out.  _ He hated to admit when anyone else but he was right about anything. But it would appear that Daenerys was right about how much wine he was now indulging in. _ He paused in his journey to meet the new unexpected guests to look down at his goblet mourningfully knowing it was time to also give up this as well. 

He sighed as he poured the arbor gold wine onto the rocky ground before them and handed a passerby servant his now empty goblet. The servant side eyed Tyrion as he grappled with the other items in his arms, he muttered things under his breath as he continued on his way up towards the castle. His red tired eyes met those of the dark eyed Varys, as Tyrion tried to figure out the right words to say.

“I am happy that Ellaria didn’t come to our war council meeting and I am sorry for not understanding why we needed her on our side.” Tyrion replied, regretfully. Varys let out a deep sigh as he looked down at his friend.

“I forgive you Tyrion. You just need to have a clear brain to handle the game of thrones and your sister.” Varys replied, causing Tyrion to freeze and nod his head.“Your sister is very unpredictable, you are the only person that can anticipate Cersei’s moves.” Varys continued as Tyrion sighed knowing that his friend was right of course. Sometimes he hated how well Varys could not only read him but also knew him as well. They came to a stop at the shore of Dragonstone, the shore was a grey sandy beach unlike those of Essos or even the shore of Kings Landing. 

A young man with straight dark blonde hair and clearly sad blue eyes looked from Varys to Tyrion.  _ What could Dickon Tarly be so sad about that he would turn towards Daenerys in this fight for the throne? _ Tyrion asked himself as he raised an eyebrow as Dickon Tarly came closer surrendering his sword over to one of the Dothraki guards. The men that stood behind Dickon also gave the other Dothraki guards their weapons and were finally allowed to approach Varys and Tyrion. 

“What do we owe the pleasure of having the heir to Horn Hill on Dragonstone?” Tyrion asked, hoping that Dickon wasn’t here to spy for Cersei or worse yet poison Daenerys. Dickon let out a huff of breath as his shoulders shagged as if he had been carrying a lot of weight on them and now suddenly he could let it go. “I am here to pledge my men and my house to Queen Daenerys. I am also here to tell you of some important news.” Dickon replied, with his sad blue eyes. 

_ Whatever this young man had to tell us, really seems to have affected him enough to look both sad and tired.  _ Tyrion nods his head, “Right this way, Lord Tarly.” Tyrion says as he motions with his hand for Dickon to follow him. Dickon sighs in relief and nods his head as he follows behind both Varys and Tyrion, while two of the four Dothraki guards follow closely behind. Tyrion met the wary gaze of Varys, both of them were concerned about this news that Dickon Tarly had to tell their queen. They walked up the long path and stairs in awkward silence, the only things that could be heard around them. Was the waves of the ocean crashing against the rocks, the wind blowing against their cloaks, and the loud breathing of the young man not used to a lot of stairs. 

The Unsullied that were stationed on either side of double doors that granted access to the ancient castle nodded their heads as they pulled the heavy doors open. Revealing a dark but very spacious grandhall that led to an almost burnt stone throne. On that throne sat a small woman with silver-gold hair, amethyst eyes, and milky skin that stood out against the darkness of the room. “You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the queen of the seven kingdoms, andals, first, and the rhoynar, protector of the realm, Khalseei of the great grass sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains.” Missandei said, just as passionately as she has thousands before.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow at the way Dickon was looking at both queen Daenerys and her advisor Missandei. Tyrion had to admit that Missandei.  _ was almost as excotic as the silver haired queen that sat on the throne. She has long curly black hair, her gaze held the color of brown, and her skin tone is honey brown. _ Tyrion thinks to himself as he shakes his head, poor boy, the queen is almost set to make a marriage alliance with the King in the North, if all goes well, and Missandei is in love with Grey Worm. 

“Your grace, my name is Dickon Tarly the heir to Horn Hill.” Dickon said, with a deep intake of breath. Daenerys sat straighter on the throne as she turned her amethyst eyes on Tyrion with a clear look of surprise. “That would be under the rule of the Tyrells? Would it not, my lord?” Daenerys asked, her gaze turning away from Tyrion and looking back at Dickon. 

Tyrion couldn’t hold in his curiosity about this information that Dickon Tarly held that was so important for him to be here. “Your grace, my father has pledged himself to Queen Cersei Lannister, betraying Lady Olenna. But that’s not the only reason why I am here, your grace.” Dickon said, with a cloud of sadness gazing over his blue eyes. Tyrion closed his eyes as he felt Daenerys’ eyes narrow as she learned of this betrayal,  _ this just proves his sister was getting more desperate. But what could her end goal be by getting Randyll Tarly to betray Olenna Tyrell? _ Tyrion asks himself as he opens his eyes looking over at his queen trying to get a sense of her emotions. 

“Go ahead with the rest of your news Lord Tarly.” Daenerys commands. Varys looks at Tyrion and turns his green eyes back on the young Tarly boy who sighed, “A representative of the Iron Bank is in King's Landing demanding that Queen Cersei pay back the loans that the crown has borrowed from them over the years. The crown unfortunately is about 10 million gold dragons in debt to the iron bank that also includes the interest.” Dickon continued, he paused in his barrage of bad news to see how Daenerys would take it.

Tyrion’s hands clenched into fists at his sides knowing how dear older sister planned to pay off this debt.  _ The Tyrells are the richest family now in all of Westeros now that everyone knows that the mines at Casterly Rock are dried up. They are also the ones that have all the grain that help the kingdom survive the winter. _ “This can only mean one thing: your grace. My sister plans on attacking Highgarden and taking not only all the food but also the gold to repay the debt that the crown owes the iron bank.” Tyrion said, as he turns swiftly on his heels to look directly at Daenerys. Barristan who stood behind Tyrion nodded his head in agreement as he too looked at Daenerys. Daenerys’ amethyst eyes went from wide to dark to narrowing all within a matter of seconds as she looked away from Dickon and looked at Tyrion with anger in her eyes. 

“We must send ravens to Highgarden and have the unsullied that are already there order the servants and the people to clear out the grain and all the gold they can. They must prepare to evacuate the ships that we have shall leave immediately for Highgarden to save them and all they can gather.” Daenerys ordered, Tyrion smirked knowing that she would react this way. Varys stood up straighter with a very rare proud look on both his face and in his eyes upon hearing their queen wanting to defend the people. Dickon lets out a sigh of relief that makes them all remember he is still present in the throne room and the grand hall. “Your grace, there is more. If you are willing to listen to the reason why I have in a sense betrayed my father by pledging myself to your house and your cause?” Dickon finally asks. 

“You chose to remain loyal to House Targaryen even though your father would not?” Daenerys asks with a raised brow of curiosity.

Dickon shuffles his feet before replying. “My father knows nothing of loyalty, first he would side with a  woman  that blew up the Sept of Baelor, then he would turn on Lady Olenna, our liege lord, then he would turn on my older brother, his heir, because he was not made for battle. I don’t trust his judgment, so here I am, hoping that you are better than they are, Your Grace.” Dickon replies.

Tyrion sighed,  _ finally they would have the answers to the reason why he was here. _ Tyrion thinks to himself as he looks at Quaithe, the woman who had raised his queen, she stood out of the way of everyone else, always observing and wearing the mask to cover her face. Her blue and green eyes narrowed as she took in all the information that Tarly boy had to say. Tryion frowned as he turned to look back at Daenerys who sat back in the burnt looking throne she was sitting on looking every bit the young girl they had all forgotten she really is.  _ She has a way of caring herself as if she is older beyond her years. Though the experiences she has had in her short young life has led her to be wiser and far more mature than other young women her age. _

“I’ll try my best not to disappoint you, young man. House Targaryen has returned, and with it, true justice and rightful rule in Westeros, thank you for being one of the first to help that happen, Dickon Tarly.” Daenerys says, and looks back at her mother, that is giving her a precious smile. Tyrion just takes the whole scene that is happening before his eyes,  _ realizing that they just may have a chance after all.  _

_________________________________________________________

Bronn held his fur cloak tighter around his body to shelter himself from the switzinding cold of the northern winter. Bronn turned in his saddle to glance at an unconscious Jaime Lannister and Bronn sighed worriedly. Bronn brings both horses to a stop, he jumps down from his horse and walks over to his friend. He shakes his head because his friendship with the Lannister brothers is different and strange. Bronn shoves those thoughts from his mind as he pulls out a brown folded up cloak from the saddle bag of Jaime’s horse. He placed the cloak around Jaime’s body to keep him warm from the chill of the northern winter.

“We are almost here Jaime. You are going to have to tell them what Cersei has done to Tommen, her plans to invade the north, and why you killed the mad king in the first place.” Bronn whispered to his friend. With every word he said his breath was fogging the air around him as he trudged through the snow back to his own horse. Bronn slapped the reigns of his and Jaime’s horses and began riding through the freshly fallen inch snow. With how grey the sky was and how much snow was still coming down Bronn was not quite able to see the gates of Winterfell as soon as he would have liked. 

“Who goes there?” a guard at the gate yelled. Bronn sighed in relief as he glanced over at Jaime seeing him finally begin to stir and clutch at his cloak in dear life. Bronn shook his head at Jaime, though he understood why he was acting uncertain, because they were riding into enemy territory. “Jaime if you stick to the plan they won’t chop your golden head off.” Bronn whispered back to him. He could feel the tension rolling off of Jaime like stench off of an unwashed peasant. “Ser Bronn of the Blackwater here to see Jon Snow. I brought the winter supplies he asked for. I’m told that he was Dolorous this morning.” Bronn said sarcastically. 

“Of course, his grace told us to let you straight through.” The guard responded, before turning to a man further down the wall and loudly shouted. “Fetch the king. Tell him the supplies he is expecting are here.” The gates to Winterfell opened allowing Bronn to guide the horses through the now lifted gate. Jaime finally sat up in his saddle looking a little dumbstruck that they were able to get into Winterfell so easily. Jaime glanced at Bronn who had slowed the horses to a relative slow pace, “How long have you planned this?” Jaime whispered to Bronn. Bronn turned in his saddle to look into the shocked green eyes that belong to his best friend, “Since Cersei ordered us to go get Myrcella. I wanted to get her safe as well, I am sorry Jaime that we were able to save her or Tommen.” Bronn whispered back with a look of sadness appearing in his dark eyes. Jaime nodded his head mourningfully as the horses came to a halt in front of guards and the king in the north. 

Jaime could see other people in the courtyard he didn’t recognize, but he hung his head in both guilt and mourning. Bronn jumped down from his black stallion, “Your grace, I have brought Ser Jaime Lannister. Though I would like to tell you he has come of his own accord and will tell you why.” Ser Bronn says, causing the last living son of Ned Stark to look at Ser Jaime with wide grey eyes and a quirk of his eyebrow. Bronn and Jon Snow walked over to the white stallion that Jaime was currently sitting on. “Ser Bronn has told me that you have come to us of your own accord. Why?” Jon Snow asks warily like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Cersei killed our son Tommen and is now defiling his body by drinking his blood. I have more to say but first I need to face a trial of all my crimes.” Ser Jaime says, as Jon Snow also known as the bastard of Winterfell widened his eyes in horror. The more Jaime looked at this “bastard” king of the north, he felt there was something very familiar about him. The way he stood and presented himself reminded him of another who was a royal but was never able to hold the crown nor the title of King, Rhaegar Targaryen. 

“Good, I am glad to hear we are on the same page.” Jon Snow says with a darkening of his grey eyes. Jaime only silently nodded his head, nothing like the cocky knight they had all known once upon a time. Bronn eyed Jaime with worry clouding his dark eyes, “I’ll be alright Bronn.” Jaime says as he hops down from his white stallion and allows the guards to escort him into Winterfell. Bronn nodded his head as he turned to look at the famous king in the north named Jon Snow. “Edd told me about you. He said that you are one of the best sellswords he knows. I suppose I should have known better than to doubt you since you were one of the few he never complained about.” Jon says with a hint of a smile. “Well, look at that, my little brother is praising me. For him to gain some humor, that Wall must have some strong magic.” Bronn says snarkily. 

A dark look passed through the King’s grey eyes as they continued into the castle. Jaime glanced over his shoulder at Bronn and Jon Snow with interest. Bronn sent him a small smile of encouragement back at him, “You have no idea.” Jon says with a dangerous tone in his voice. Bronn raised an eyebrow but decided to let the strange comment pass, Jaime was forced on his knees in front of the other northern lords in the center of the great hall. “Ser Jaime Lannister has come before us of his own free will with the help of Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. He has requested a trial to confess his crimes. He also has some information that he would like to give us.” Jon says, surprising all the northern lords into silence. All of them glanced at the Kingslayer with interest and a narrowing of eyes as they wondered if this was just another trick.

Jon Snow turned to look at Ser Jaime expectantly, Bronn sighed as he watched his friend look at all the northern lords with regret and shame in his green eyes. “Cersei blew up the Sept Of Baelor killing Mace Tyrell, Loras Tyrell, my uncle Kevan Lannister, and many lords of the south. Tommen Baratheon, who you all know is my son, this caused him to commit suicide believing his wife Margaery Tyrell was also killed.” Jaime says, this caused the northern lords to look at him in both horror and surprise. “She used wildfire that the mad king used to kill many people for sport. She is now drinking our son’s blood with the belief that it will make her immortal, she plans to invade the north with all of the Lannister army.” Jaime continues as Jon stands up straighter as Jaime willingly gave this information

. Jon Snow turned away from the kneeling Kingslayer and turned to look at the northern lords, “The trial will begin in two days.” The king in the north announces as he turns on his heels and walks out of the great hall.

_________________________________________________

  
  


Daenerys sighed as she got up from the throne and slowly walked out of the throne room. Hearing that Olenna was once again in danger by the very woman who had slaughtered the woman’s remaining family members truly angered her. Although Cersei’s actions did not surprise her; as much as the woman thought that she was completely unlike her brute of a husband, in reality, she was worse. Somehow, she was so deep in her thoughts that she found herself in front of the painted table with her beloved Meraxes following beside her. The cat’s soft fur gliding through her fingers as she pet her head helped put the anger and frustration a bit behind her. The events of the day were weighing heavily on her mind. Closing her eyes, she thought about how to deal with a woman who seemed to be getting more insane and desperate to keep the throne at any cost, even if it meant destroying the innocents around her that she was supposed to protect. 

Daenerys had to admit that  the Olenna situation  brought back many memories from her childhood and being on the run from the usurper’s  assassins. Just  thinking of the last time she saw Viserys  brought tears to her eyes. She still remembered the hunger pains that she felt, were quickly forgotten when she came upon the sight of her older brother laying in a pool of his own blood. 

“Your grace?” Princess Arianne asked cautiously. This caused Daenerys to jump and look around her surroundings confused for a second. Princess Arianne raised an eyebrow at queen Daenerys with concern in her brown eyes, while sliding some letters out of her clutch.

She looks up and then she realizes that Princess Arianne and Ser Barristan are here with letters and now there is likely more to be learned from the past of her family. Meraxes meowed as she butted her head against Daenerys’ hand that was still in her fur, Daenerys blinked a couple of times before she seemed to finally come back to reality, a small smile came over Daenerys’ lips as she looked down at Meraxes. The Dornish princess slowly hands the letters to Daenerys, as Daenerys looks up at her in surprise. She sighs and picks up one letter and unfolds it. 

  
  


“ **My Darling Husband,**

**I am looking forward to getting to know Lady Lyanna Stark, once it's safe for the both of you to come back to the Red Keep. Rhaenys misses your harp playing and singing, I have told her that soon you will be back to sing her to sleep. I am happy to learn that Lady Lyanna Stark is now your second wife and my sister. I’m sorry that I could not produce you more heirs, but I’m glad that you have a chance to fulfill your prophecy. I don’t understand them all the time, but I accept that you are not as mad as Aerys. Your father is getting more and more mad by the day, I am getting uneasy for our children and my own safety. I wish you the best of luck, and it may not be so wise to return while your father still draws breath. In time, I hope that things can get better, but for now I just want you to be safe.**

**Your wife,**

  
  


**Princess Elia Martell and Targaryen** ”

  
  
  
  


Daenerys read as she set the letter down on the painted table in front of her. Her amethyst eyes widened as she looked up into the brown eyes of Princess Arianne, who was looking at her with a sad smile on her red painted lips. “History is always told by the winners of a rebellion, while the loser's truth gets lost to the wayside.” Daenerys said, with disgust clear in her voice. As she sat up straighter in her chair, Meraxes jumped onto Daenerys’ lap purring to comfort her. “Read the other one.” Arianne urged with a comforting smile. Daenerys nodded her head as she picked up the second old letter and unfolded it.

**“To Maester Aemon of Castle Black,**

**My Lady, Lyanna is pregnant. I could not put Elia through that again, and she understands completely. I don’t know if I can express with words how excited I am. I know that the dragon has three heads and know it is fulfilled. I saw him, you know, dark hair, grey eyes. I see him as a king one day, and perhaps it is the North in his blood that will end the Long Night, and I hope he wears a crown one day, although that may be too much to ask. It may be impossible for one man to do both. It’s just so strange, the boy is not born yet, and still I see him riding a horse, running into battle with a sword on his hip, killing all the blue eyed corpses, and he is the very ice and fire itself, embodied in a man. He will make his way North and slay the foul creatures that would bring us to ruin. Unfortunately, my father is one such creature, and he will be slayed all the same. By my hand, I know not, but he will be killed, for he must, his madness cannot continue. Forgive me for rambling uncle, but you know this is important to me. I see the blue eyes in my dreams, and they come with a blizzard unlike any that we have ever seen. It may take the might of the Seven Kingdoms to vanquish these creatures. I’ll do what I must. The worst thing is that in my dreams, when I see my son, he looks lonely. It looks as though he has no friends and his heart is as cold as ice. I pray that there will come a flame to balance this cold disposition. Thank you, uncle, for being there, and listening to the ramblings of your great nephew. I hope this letter finds you well.**

**Sincerely,**

**Prince Rhaegar Targaryen”**

  
  


Daenerys read, her amethyst eyes widened with the knowledge that her great-grand-uncle was not only still alive but was also living at the wall. Why hadn’t Ser Barristan or even Ser Jorah ever told her that she had a living family member at the wall? She asked herself as she closed her eyes. Daenerys felt relieved that one of her brothers turned out to be respectable, this made her wish that he could have lived and been the one to raise her. Two tears roll down her cheeks thinking of all the lies that the usurper had told over the years. She opened her eyes and grabbed the next letter, she unfolded it.

**“To Prince Rhaegar Targaryen,**

**Beware the dreams, my boy. They usually are followed by darkness. You must do everything you can to ensure your safety, there are so few of us dragons as it is. Take great care of the prophecies you fear, don't swallow you whole. I wish only the best for you and our family, and my only regret is that I may die seeing our house ruined and never seeing another dragon or its like before I die here in the cold of the Wall. Even though I may not see you, I know I did the right thing by coming here to the Wall and protecting our house from those that would tear it apart. I only pray that you will be able to do the same. Get some rest my boy, and think clearly before you do anything drastic.**

**Sincerely,**

**Maester Aemon Targaryen”**

  
  
  


Daenerys smiled a little bit; her great-grand-uncle sounded a lot like her foster mother. Quaithe had over the years given her almost the same kind of advice about her dragon dreams that she had dreamed over the years. Daenerys set this third letter down on top of the other two. She began to wonder if her foster mother and her great-grand-uncle were somehow related. That was a thought for another time Daenerys thought as she grabbed the last letter and began reading over it.

  
  


**“To Lady Lyanna Stark,**

**I am so sorry to hear of the loss of your father and brother. I wish there was something we could do about Aerys, but he will not see reason. I heard the good news from Rhaegar, that you are pregnant and that I will have another grandson. I am so excited to have more family, it is so lonely here at Dragonstone that I don’t know if I can bear it anymore. If I have another child, I pray it’s a girl. I hope she’s kind, and gentle, and I shall name her Daenerys, the name of a Queen. I know I shouldn’t put that much on a babe, but I hope she lives, so that we can see our house not looked down on as it is with Aerys sitting on the throne. In all hopes, I hope that our two children can marry and unite the Seven Kingdoms again, as they are severely fractured now, and I suspect it will only get worse. Take care of my grandson and son, and I hope we meet and we can escape the loneliness that weighs us down.**

**Sincerely,**

**Rhaella Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms”**

  
  
  


Tears roll down Daenerys cheeks as her vision blurs with the knowledge that her mother wanted a good life for all her children, her good daughters, and her grandchildren as well. Daenerys wipes the tears from both her cheeks and hers clearing her vision as she pauses, looking down once more at the letter her mother had written nearly twenty years ago. Rereading the words that Lyanna had had a son with her brother. What happened to her nephew? Daenerys asked herself as she felt a range of emotions flooding through both her mind and her heart. “What happened to my nephew that Lady Lyanna Stark had?” Daenerys asked, as she set the letter down on the painted table .After meeting her Mother, Daenerys was forced to be a queen once more as her allies are here. She has a large smile on her face but it’s time to don the face of Daenerys the Queen. Daenerys looked into the brown eyes of Princess Arianne with a hopeful look appearing in her amethyst eyes, she almost appeared to be a child. 

“Thank you for these letters, Princess Arianne. You have no idea what it means to me to have a family and these letters help tremendously. I am glad to know that my family isn’t all monsters.” Daenerys says, as Arianne smiles at her. “Your Grace, I’d like to discuss the future of Dorne with you.” Arianne says. 

Ser Arthur comes into the chamber, with a look on his face that denotes that he has information, and she wanted to speak to him anyways. “We shall speak on this later, Princess Arianne. I need a word with Ser Arthur.” Arianne nods and leaves the chambers. 

She dismisses the guards and it is now just the three of them. 

“Ser Arthur, you were telling me that there was another dragon?” Daenerys asks. Ser Arthur nods and steps closer to the obsidian throne. Another figure steps out from behind the throne and looks on at them, and shocks the two knights beyond belief. 

Rhaella Targaryen steps out onto the dark stone floors, for what feels like the thousandth time, but this time it is different. The waves of the sea crashing on the jagged sounds feels so familiar, but the dragons flying around the island show her that she has a different sense of the way that this world will turn.  _ Three new grandchildren perhaps to populate the skies? _ She wonders.

“Your Grace…” She hears in front of her at the bottom of the stairs, and it’s Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur, with their blue eyes fixed on her. The look of them brings a smile to her face. “Ser Barristan Selmy, and Ser Arthur Dayne, you are the men that tried your best to keep me safe. I’m sorry you had to see all that you did, and that was me at some of my worst moments.” 

They lay their swords on the ground and kneel before her. Her heart begins racing and then she indicates for them to rise. “Thank you much for all that you have done for my family, you did the best that you could, despite Aerys’ Madness, and you will always have my respect for that.” The two knights look at each other, indicating that they must have something to say. 

“You have something that you need to say to me, sers?” She asks.

Ser Arthur speaks first. “It’s about your grandson, Your Grace.” 

_ Grandson? _

“Rhaegar had a child with Lyanna Stark, he sent me, Gerold, and Oz to Dorne to protect Lyanna and the babe. Eddard Stark found us and he took the boy to protect him. He swore me to silence until the time came for the boy to claim his crown. I think that now is the time for it.” Ser Arthur states solemnly.

“Eddard’s bastard…It has to be...” Ser Barristan says. 

They turn and look at the knight, his eyes stared blankly at the bright blue of the sea. 

“I always wondered why he’d send the Kingsguard, and why Lord Eddard was so dead set on saving young Daenerys’ life to the point where he resigned as hand. He was hiding a Targaryen all along, and that boy is nowhere to be found. It’s remarkable.” Ser Barristan says, trying to beat back tears. 

“A Stark just may do that for his blood, especially after Aerys did what he did to Lords Rickard and Brandon. That man fouled up nearly everything he touched, to the ruin of my house…” She admits sadly.

“I laid eyes on the boy, I didn’t notice it before, but he doesn’t look like Lord Eddard. I did not see the look in him but I may have missed it, much like everyone else. I thank the gods he did not have silver hair… I suspect that he would be somewhere up north.” Ser Barristan replies. 

“What do they call Northern bastards Ser Barristan? I’m sorry, I am unfamiliar with this land.” Daenerys says. 

“Snow, Your Grace.” Ser Barristan says.

The silence reigns, they are trying to figure out what happened to the boy. Daenerys whispers in her mother’s ear, and her eyes light up. “I think they just crowned our family the King in the North, we may have yet another ally before long, and a family.” Daenerys says to a smiling Rhaella.

“I should very much like to meet my grandson,  so many  things Rhaegar said make sense now. I suspect we shall see him soon.  D ragons  can sense one of their own , and we will  make sure that this is not the end of us. You two are true knights, and we will make sure that they live, and learn to fly just like my grandchildren here.” Rhaella says, as she points to the sky with a bright smile, a contagious smile that works its way over to her former knights. 

“Now let’s see if we can do everything we can to help my children succeed shall we?”

  
  


______________________________________________________________

  
  
  


Ned raised a hand for what seemed like the third time to knock on the chambers that had long ago in what seemed like a lifetime ago belonged to him, his Solar, where he did a lot of his thinking and contemplating. Ned still thinks this chamber holds all the fears and concerns of the Lords of Winterfell. Now Jon gets the privilege of having all those worries thrust upon his shoulders, and the Long Night as well. He knew what was keeping him from knocking on Jon’s door, it was a mix of guilt and so much love. He knew out of all of his children Jon was the one he had failed the most. He closed his eyes knowing he needed to have this conversation head on and explain everything in the best way he knew how. He opened his eyes and knocked on the door, as he heard the familiar heavy foot falls that belonged to his son. 

His heart clenched wondering if Jon would ever allow him to call him that, or if he even held that right any longer. A tear streamed down his cheek at all the mistakes he had made that had led to the almost extinction of his entire family. The door opened to reveal an angry and hurt Jon, Jon’s grey eyes widened at the sight of Ned at his door. “Your grace. If you will let me have a little bit of your time to explain things I would be very thankful. If not I understand as well.” Ned said, as he tried to choke back a sob that wanted to come out. 

  
  


Jon huffed as Ned bowed to the man he had raised, “Father, get up and come in.” Jon said, in frustration. Ned smiled a tiny, some things never changed. Jon had always been one to not like leadership much like himself. While Lyanna had thrived in the leadership role along with Brandon. Jon opened the door wider so he could step into his otherwise dark room, the only light that reflected across the room was the one single candle lit on the small table near his bed and the fire in the hearth. Ned stepped into the room as Jon shut the door behind them, Ned turned to look Jon in the eyes. 

“I understand why you are angry with me and you have every right to be. Not only did not tell you who your parents were, I also made you believe that you were somehow inferior to Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Not only that I also made you think that you were a stain on my honor. I also talked with Robb and he told me what Catelyn did and said to you. I am so sorry for all of it. All of my mistakes and misplaced honor led to our family almost being wiped from this world. “ Ned said as he poured his heart out to Jon. Feeling each mistake as if it was somehow happening once again, adding salt to the still open. 

“I wanted to be different from my father and Brandon, but I ended up just like them in the end. For that I am so sorry for failing you. I am not going to ask for your forgiveness because in a lot of ways I don’t deserve it.” Ned continued as more tears streamed down his cheeks. He barely noticed them as he wanted to get out everything before Jon either punched him again or pushed him out of the door. Ned closed his eyes not wanting to see the moment his son made the choice to push him not only out of his heart and his life. 

  
  


“You are once again taking my choice from me.” Jon said through clenched teeth. His hands balled into fists at his sides, causing Ned to open his eyes. “I am so sorry Jon, you are right. It is your choice to forgive me or not.” Ned replied, his voice filled with regret. Jon sighed as he raked his hand through his hair that was not yet tied back in a knot. 

“I love you father, but I am angry that you never told me the truth. Though I understand why you didn’t. My mother, as well as the war, left you in a bind and you lost most of your family.” Jon said as his grey eyes met Ned’s own grey eyes. Ned could tell that his grey eyes were filled with sadness, identity crisis, and anger.“That’s all true but also I selfishly didn’t want to give up being your father. But, that wasn’t my choice, it was yours and have always.” Ned said, wanting to be as honest as possible. Jon shook his head as he smiled a slightly small smile, Ned could tell that Jon didn’t really want to do so. 

“Of all the things you taught me, Lord Stark, the one that seems to have stuck with me the most was that we should be truthful. I stuck with that and it guided me, honor and dignity were the things I learned from you. You told me that to be a man, you must act like one. I’ve done that as best I could, and you always told me that when we make mistakes, we admit them. You have done that here and now, so I say we are on the path to forgiveness. I accept your apology.” Jon says, as Ned just stares at him, with all his hopes and dreams seemingly in the boy he raised to be a man. Ned closes the gap between them and embraces him into a tight hug. 

Jon is the first to relent and then he goes back to the desk and grabs the letters that he had read, from Lady Ashara. Lord Eddard’s eyes rove over the pages again and again, his face twisting with all sorts of emotions before fixing on anger. “Where did you get these?” Ned asks, as he looks up at Jon with his eyes beginning to darken. Ned feels both the emotions anger and sadness, he also felt more emotions that were swirling through his body. 

“In your desk, they were hidden, and Sansa tells me that her Lady Mother had hidden things from you, such as this.” Jon replies. Ned’s eyes narrow when he mentions Lady Catelyn, but they both resign themselves to the fact that there is nothing to be done about it yet. 

“Lord Howland Reed said that we shall meet them soon enough, I believe that will be sooner rather than later, a potential ally, Daenerys Targaryen, is allied with Dorne. I suspect we shall make acquaintances when the time comes for that.” Jon says to a stern-faced Ned. Ned nods his head in understanding. “You’ll make a fine King Jon.” Ned says and hugs him once more. 

“He sure will, we’ll help him along, won’t we?” Lyanna says, creaking the door open and leading Rhaegar into the chambers. “I do not know you, Lady Lyanna Stark, nor you Rhaegar Targaryen, and until I know I can trust you, Lord Eddard is my father.” Jon says to Ned. Lord Stark perks up and returns the gesture, “ I love you, Jon, always will.” Ned replies. 

They both turn and see the red-faced Lyanna, anger washing over her face, but she doesn’t say anything. Jon narrows his eyes on Lyanna, causing Ned to raise an eyebrow at Jon.”If you need anything Jon I am here. Together we can reign in these stubborn Lords of the North.” Ned said with a smile as he continued to look at Jon ignoring his little sister. 

Rhaegar has a melancholic expression but appears to accept what the gods have dealt him. “I made this bed, i’m afraid, rife with stones and spikes, rather than feathers and cushion. I shall lay in it, and I hope to gain the love of my son. I’m neither a man nor a dragon if I cannot do that.”

______________________________________________________________

Even the familiar and comforting halls of Winterfell, felt stifling, like he was somehow trapped in a cage. Robb steps out into the now quiet courtyard of Winterfell. His new brown cloak draped down his lean body as he placed his other black glove on his right hand. Dreams of what should have been kept him from sleeping too long as he glanced down at his side seeing Grey Wind trotting up next to him. The full moon illuminated the freshly fallen snow that covered the path way to the broken tower, that also haunted his dreams. Just thinking of where Bran had been pushed and been forever a cripple, had Robb filled with more regret.

Knowing that with Jaime Lannister pushing his brother out of the tower is what had led to the ruin of his house. Thinking of this caused Robb to clench his hands into tight fists at his sides, Grey Wind whined next to him. Robb let out a breath he had no idea he had been holding in and glanced down at his champion. Grey Wind’s yellow eyes told Robb everything he already knew and more. He shook his head as an unwanted smile graced his chapped lips. Robb and Grey Wind walked through the snow towards the tower that no one else ever went, that suited him just fine.

He wasn’t in the mood to talk with well meaning family and past friends, who didn’t understand his pain and grief. The only comfort Robb got out of all of this mess was learning how both Walder Frey and Roose Bolton died. It's a major relief to find that he no longer has to be burdened by the weight of a crown. The weight of thousands of people’s lives on his shoulder is another comfort, but he has to admit to himself at least that he misses the thrill of the hunt. Though that may just be the direwolf that has become a part of him, Robb thinks to himself. 

“Damned crowns, all they do is get you killed,” Robb says, kicking up dirt once he finally steps into the room where Bran had been pushed. “That’s very true.” A woman’s voice says solemnly behind him. Robb turns around and looks at a very beautiful young woman standing in the doorway of the room he was in. Her long tawny hair was braided and pinned to the crown of her head, her blue eyes locked with his. She wore a long grey northern fur dress that clung in all the right places, causing Robb to blush as if he were a green boy once more. 

“May I ask my lady, who you are?” Robb asked, clearing his voice. Shaking the blush from his cheeks before the young woman knew he was thinking improper things of her. “My name is Margaery Tyrell, I was the queen of the seven kingdoms. I was previously married to Renly Baratheon, Joffrey Baratheon, and Tommen Baratheon.” Margaery says as she glances down at the dirt underneath their feet. “My father used to tell me that children do things that parents usually wished they could have done themselves.” Robb replies back to her.

  
  


Margaery raised a skeptical eyebrow at him as if she didn’t understand what he meant. “My mother filled my sister Sansa’s head with dreams of knights, princes, and being a queen. So, when she went to King's Landing to marry him. She didn’t understand that women like Cersei and men like Joffrey existed and what they wanted from her.” Robb explained, causing Margaery to look at him with widened eyes. Robb could see her pretty blue eyes darken with some hidden knowledge and acknowledgement as well. “Your Robb Stark, not only the former king of the north, but also Sansa Stark’s older brother.” Margaery said in both surprise and awe. 

  
  


Robb stood up straighter as he nodded his head with both sadness and surprise that she knew Sansa. “How do you know Sasna?” Robb asks, without hiding his curiosity. Margaery smiled a small smile of both tease and mischief as she stepped into the large cold room. “I met your sister in Kings Landing right after Stannis attacked the capital and was unsuccessful in gaining the throne for himself. My grandmother wanted to secure a marriage between my older brother Wyllas and your sister but sadly the queen got a hold of that information and decided to have Tyrion marry your sister to her instead.” Margaery says as she looks into Robb’s own mirroring blue eyes. 

  
  


“After Joffrey’s death Sansa was thankfully able to escape the clutches of Cersei. My older brother Garlan came to Kings Landing and rescued me before the sept of Baelor blew. I would like to think that Sansa and I are friends though I’m not so sure.” Margaery continued. Robb nodded his head in understanding trying to not think of his wife’s, unborn child, his own death. Margaery walked further into the room looking at the vines that were turning brown due to the winter season. She clutched her green fur cloak that had golden roses all throughout it, tighter around her shoulders. “Why did you come here?” Robb asks looking at her with interest in his eyes. 

  
  


“I just told you, that the north-” Margaery begins to say, but Robb cuts her off with a raise of one of his gloved hands. Margaery huffed clearly, not appreciating being interrupted in such a rude manner. “I meant why here in this broken tower?” Robb clarifies with a rise of his eyebrow in question. “Everyone told me that this place was empty and that it was deserted. I figured that it would be the perfect place to contemplate my plans for the future.” Margaery says with a darkening of her blue eyes. Robb shoves one of his gloved hands through his unruly reddish brown hair in understanding. It would seem that they had more in common than he had thought before and the quietness that this broken place has to offer beckoned them both. Grey Wind approaches Margaery cautiously, looking at her with wonder in his yellow eyes. Margaery follows Robb’s eyes and a smile appears on her well taken care of red lips, it's the first he has seen since they had begun talking. She held out her hand for Grey Wind to sniff, causing him to trot over to her happily as he sniffed her hand and began licking it. Robb felt a true smile appear on his lips as he watched his best friend accept this young beautiful woman before him, making Robb that more interested in Margaery Tyrell.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. We meant to have it out sooner, but here it is. Thanks for reading, if you are so inclined.

On the streets of Braavos, the stone pathways and merchants fill the area with a false sense of security, and a smell of sea water and fresh bread and various other foods. Daenerys hides in the alleyways, scrambling and barely clinging to her own little life. 

Viserys just got killed by assassins, and they are after her now, just because of the color of her hair. She always thought the silver hair was shiny and beautiful, but right now it would mean her death. All she can do now is hide, and run for her life. The worst part is that she’s hungry, she has nowhere to go, and she can’t trust anyone. There are men and women, children, cats and dogs everywhere. Nowhere feels safe, wandering alone and hoping for someone or something. 

Navigating from alleyway to alleyway, looking for scraps of food, and animals are faring better than her on that front. Hours are passing, and the sun starts to set, and she looks up in the sky as the lively town’s activities start to die down. Her legs are carrying her forward, weak and stumbling, and she stumbles in an empty alleyway, desperately holding on to life and willpower.

A piece of bread hits her on the head, and she picks it up and devours it without delay. “What do you see when you look at the sky, child?” A calm woman’s voice says to her. She slowly turns around and sees a silver-haired woman, looking at her with one blue and one green eye, unsettling her. She did get me some bread though, but that doesn’t mean she trusts her, and she slides her feet back and prepares to run. 

“You don’t trust easily, I see. Admirable, but sometimes foolish, what do you expect to do here in Braavos, with no allies and no family?” The strange woman asks her. Daenerys doesn’t answer. The woman slowly walks closer and looks at her dirty clothes, silently assessing the situation. If not for the bread and silver hair, she’d be running head first anywhere else but here. 

“I’m sorry about Viserys…” She says, and a tear runs down Daenerys face, glimmering in the moonlight. Daenerys stands still, not approaching or running away. “I can say that, for a certainty, I have lived and made it this far, just for you, my dear. I saw you, in the sky, a dragon come again. Looking at the rest of us like ants, and you were strong, and you were a queen.” The woman says, slyly. “You saw it too, didn’t you?”

Daenerys gulps, and then nods. “How do you know? Who are you? Why me?” 

The woman smiles and holds her hand out. “I am Shiera Seastar, child. I have lived a long time, and I only live to serve you, princess Daenerys.” The woman goes to one knee, reminding her ever so much of Willem Darry, her sworn protector. She decides to trust this woman, because she doesn’t know how she can hide from a woman that can see her dreams. The old stories that Viserys and Ser Willem told her about flood her memories. Shiera Seastar was a beautiful woman that lived so long ago, that she should be dead. She had the color eyes to match what she sees here, and she was desired by one of the many Aegons, Bittersteel, she thinks to herself. 

Confused, she just has to ask the woman, “how can you live this long, Lady Seastar?” 

She smiles and squeezes Daenerys hand. “There are things that you don’t yet understand, young one. You look up at the sky, and you see clouds and blue skies, moonlight, and birds. You look upon the earth and you see soil, and plants animals and men. But what moves them? What makes the birds flap their wings, and what makes the trees grow? The same thing that will hatch your dragons, the very same thing that will let you fly, the very same thing that will bring you back to where you belong in this accursed world.” 

“What would that be?” Daenerys asks.

“Love.” Shiera Seastar replies.

Together they watch the moon glow over the streets of Braavos, and she falls asleep in Shiera’s arms, dreaming of flying in turbulent skies, and finally having a home.

__________________________________________________________________  


Jon sighs as he walks out of the great hall and walks down the hallway only to bump into Robb and his father Ned Stark talking in whispered tones. Jon raises an eyebrow as he wonders what these two could be talking about so intently. Jon walks over to them clearing his throat causing both of them to jump and look at with a playful glare appearing in their eyes. Jon smirked a little mischievous smile at both of them. “What are you two talking about?” Jon asks as Ned sighs along with Robb. “Uncle Brandon, your mother, and Sansa,” Robb says with an edge of anger in his voice. His blue eyes flashed with anger as well, as Jon took a deep breath. This made Jon wonder what his mother could have done now. “What have they done?” Jon asks, hoping that she has talked with Ned and that nothing bad has happened. 

  
“Your mother keeps questioning every move our father makes. Though I understand because of the Wall, not revealing your true name, and your death. I think Uncle Brandon is seducing young maids.” Robb said, through clenched teeth and his hands balled up into fists at his side. Grey Wind whined at the tension that was starting to rise in the hallway. Ghost took a step back as he looked over at his brother while Jon put a hand to his sore head. “We need to talk about this in private. The crypts should do.” Jon ordered, as both of them nodded their heads in agreement. They walked away from the doorway that led to the great hall and walked into the frigid cold air of the northern winter causing the three of them to hold their fur cloaks tighter around their bodies to protect themselves from what seemed like an unnaturally cold winter. 

“We need to sort this out, and we need to do it quickly.” Jon says, walking down into the crypts, torch in hand and not in the mood for this, but when does a person get what they want? Jon turned to look at his brother and father while his cheeks slowly turned a shade of red at the thought of his uncle Brandon’s lust filled ways. “What makes you say that, Robb?” Ned asks with a narrow of his grey eyes. 

Robb sighed as he looked from Jon then to their father. “Former queen Margaery Tyrell said that he seduced her maiden cousin Alla Tyrell and that her older brother Ser Garlan is ready to have them wed or kill him to defend her honor.” Robb says with a shake of his head. Jon groans as Ned curses under his breath, “How did you come by this bit of information?” Jon asks with a playful smile that causes Robb to redden.

“Lady Margaery and I spoke...accidentally...privately...yesterday...” Robb says as his cheeks redden even more. His blue eyes shift to look down at the cement floor underneath their feet. Jon notices a swift change in his brother, a playful smile begins to spread on his chapped red lips. “I didn’t realize the crypts were occupied?” Sansa whispers causing the three of them to whip their heads around to look over at Sansa. Robb smiles and motions with his hands for her to join them. Jon raises an eyebrow at her odd behavior when she didn’t joyfully reunite with her brother and father. “Sansa what’s wrong?” Ned asks, his grey eyes not able to hide the hurt by her actions. 

“I was so mad when you ordered us to leave King's Landing. I didn’t want to lose my chance of marrying Joffrey. I was the one who told queen Cersei that you were leaving and that I wanted to stay.” She confessed looking down at her hands as she began playing with the skirt of her dress. Jon, Robb, and Ned stiffen at this new information. But the gasp of outrage from behind causes them to jump and see Lyanna and Rhaegar standing at the base of the steps. 

“That is...damn, Sansa.” Jon replies. She has the decency to look away, a glimmer of tears running down her face and shining light moonlight against the torches.“Wanting to marry a man is one thing. Betraying your house? That is something else entirely…” Robb says. 

“I obviously didn’t know what was going to happen! I had no one, not Jeyne, not Arya, not Father! It was the most horrible thing I had experienced, and I was so stupid!” Sansa shouts in anger. “But, that is another lie Sansa. Or have you forgotten that the last time you went to queen Cersei that a boy of thirteen was killed and our father had to kill your direwolf lady. Mother always filled your head with knights and princes, then you betrayed us all for one, the same one that took your Lord Father’s head.” Arya sneers back, as she steps out from the shadows. Causing all of them to jump and Sansa’s blue eyes to widen with shock at seeing her little sister.

  
“I understand all of your anger and pain. For it is still there like a flesh wound that hasn’t healed. But, Sansa has admitted what she has done and knows what it cost everyone in this crypt. She didn’t hide the truth from anyone and she has also sadly had to pay for it through her horrifying marriage to Ramsay Bolton. The past needs to stay in the past or it will come back even sharper like a double edged knife until there is nothing left to hurt.” Lyanna says with a single tear streaming down her rosy cheek. Jon turns away from Sansa to look at his mother with a raised eyebrow and a look of surprise in his grey eyes.

“My sister is right. Sansa has told the truth rather than hide it. Thank you Sansa for coming to me with this truth. This doesn’t change how much I love you. My red wolf, I forgive you.” Ned replies, surprising almost everyone in the crypt as Sansa lets out a sob and throws herself into her father’s open arms. Jon smiled watching the man who raised him once again prove to everyone including his own sister that he was different from what she expected him to be. “Well, don’t you think it's time for you to do the same with Ned?” Rhaegar asks Lyanna with raised eyebrow as she turns to look at her husband with a glare.

“Are you saying that you have forgiven him for sending our son to the wall and him dying?” Lyanna asks, with venom dripping with each word uttered. Rhaegar sighs as he shakes his head as he looks into the grey eyes of his beloved wife’s eyes. “Everytime you spout anger at Ned, you are alienating our son and driving him away even more. No matter how much you don’t like it, Ned is his father and you have to forgive him. I just hope that Ned can do the same with you. No matter our wants or wishes, we had cast our lots, and we must earn for ourselves the love of our son.” Rhaegar says with another shake of his head as he walks away from Lyanna. “Where are you going?” Lyanna demands, not wanting to be alone.”To get our nephew Bran.” Rhaegar says as he walks up the stairs and out of the crypts.  


Ned looks at the statue that was somehow his own, it was a strange feeling. Knowing that he was supposed to be dead but..here he stood alive looking at his own tombstone. “It doesn’t even look like me.” Ned says hauntingly, still staring at this statue. “There were not many people left that knew your face.” Sansa replies, sadly back to her father. Ned looks over at Sansa with a small smile on his lips as he grabs her hand, letting her know that he doesn’t blame her.“The north has been through all the seven hells.” Robb says. As Ned and Sansa turned to look over at Robb and quirk an eyebrow at his strange mood. “You haven’t seen anything yet, you children of summer.” Jon replies with a smug grin. “Oh Jon, I don’t think even you have seen anything yet, spring child.” Arya jokes, as Jon glares down at her. It was a perfect way to lighten the mood, and Jon loves her ever more for it. 

Lyanna stiffens watching her son laughing with Ned and his children. Making her realize that for her son, his uncle is his father and his cousins are his siblings. She closes her grey eyes finally understanding what Rhaegar and Jon have both been telling her just in their own ways. Jon has a big enough heart for Rhaegar and her to have a place with Ned and his children as well, it was never a choice or a competition. “Ned?” Lyanna asks, causing her nephew and nieces to stiffen while Ned turns to look at her with love still shining in his grey eyes. “Yes Lyanna?” Ned asks with a raised eyebrow. 

  
“After we are done dealing with our ladies man of a brother. Would you mind talking with me alone?” Lyanna asks nervously as her foot shuffles on the dark ground. “Of course. I will always have time for my little sister.” Ned replies, with a surprised look in his grey eyes. Like he couldn’t believe that she would ask just to spend time with him. A true smile since being brought back alive appeared on her lips, as Ned motioned with his hand for her to join them, she only hesitated for a second before she walked over to join her family. Ned pulls her next to him as they listen to their children talk about their childhood, “That was your idea!” Jon cried, as he pointed at Robb who only snorted and shook his head.   


“Sorry Robb, but Jon is right. It was your idea to have Jon covered in flour and jump out of the shadows of the crypts to scare the living daylights out of Sansa. I was the one who covered Jon in the flour while you were the one who lured her down to the crypts.” Arya pointed out helpfully, causing Robb to glare at Arya and Sansa to glare at Robb. “I should have known it was you all along.” Sansa says, trying to be serious but she breaks down in giggles as the rest of them join her in more fits of laughter. 

  
____________________________________________________________

Daenerys leaned against the pointy edges of the rock wall behind her back and allowed the heat from the volcano above the cavern her sons had chosen as their lair, to warm her as the breeze from the ocean also cooled her skin. A rare smile appeared upon her red lips as she watched Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal dive in and out of the water for fish. Viserion being the more playful of her three sons gloated to his brothers that he was the one who got the most fish. Drogon, being her fiercer son, chirped angry at his brother’s display and dove to teach him a lesson only for Viserion to doge out of the way and chirp happily. 

Drogon chirped unhappily as he soured upward and knocked into Viserion both startling him and almost causing his mouthful of fish to fall back into the ocean. Viserion chirped with a grumble as he righted himself mid flight and made his way back towards the cavern. Daenerys shakes her head not understanding why Drogon still treats Viserion the way he does. Viserion lands next to Daenerys as he lets out a hurt filled chirp after burning his fish and eating them whole, Daenerys places her hand on his snout and slowly moves her hand up his nose. “I know Viserion. I love you very much.” She whispers, to him as she sits down on the fire nest, he recently made for the both of them. He rests his rather large head on her lap as he lets out both relaxed and happy chirps, she hums while sliding her hand along his cream and gold scales. This brings her back to the times when Viserion, Rhaegal, and Drogon were babies and she would do this everyday and night just to calm them and hearself. 

During those times they had been all each other had in the world and they had latched onto each other. Now her mother was back from the dead and she had a nephew she had never known existed. Viserion must have felt the conflicting emotions that were currently raging through her, for he lets out a whimper as he lifts his head and his golden eyes meet hers, Daenerys finally lets herself cry and grabs onto Viserion. This causes Drogon and Rhaegal to whimper and let out sad cries from above, they land in the cavern and as they had done so many years ago as babies curled around their mother in a protective ball to protect her from the world as she held onto all three of her sons. She had been hiding from both her past and emotions for so long that she had forgotten who she truly was and what she had longed for since she was a young girl. “Love” is what she had longed for all her life and forgotten once Shiera had come into her life, the throne had taken over that longing. 

Daenerys holds her three sons closer as she begins to think, “what if westeros doesn’t have her shadow lover?, what if it’s just a passing dream, that will soon fade into nothing?” She asks herself. Finally allowing herself to feel the old fear that she had pushed down so deep within herself that she wouldn’t know it was there. Three warm sensations urge her to continue feeling everything she had been avoiding since she was a child, a slight smile appears on her lips even as tears continue to stream down her cheeks, knowing her children are supporting her. Her children make her think back to her latest shadow lover encounter and how strange it was it had led to snow. What could that mean? Daenerys asks herself once more. This causes her to pull out her mother’s leather bound journal from the inner side of her dress and opens it up, looking at the next entry.   
  
Dragons used to fly the skies of Westeros until the need for the very throne my husband now sits upon took over the care of both family and dragons. Now my husband Aerys has become obsessed with the need to bring back both our family and dragons, all because we watched all the members of our family die on the day our son Rhaegar was born. With each of our children miscarrying or dying within months or a year he becomes madder. Making the tales of the iron throne either driving the king mad or making the king great, true. I fear the more Aerys’ lets his madness known, and his burning of lords and anyone who angers him will lead to the ruin of our house. I am unwilling to part from Rhaegar, my good-daughter Elia, Viserys and my grandchildren whom I love very much.  
Daenerys reads aloud shutting the journal once she had read all that her mother had written for that day. She glanced up into a mix of bronze, lava, and creamy eyes as she smiled and nodded her head finally understanding what she had to do even if it meant ruining everyone’s plans for her. 

_________________________________________________________________

  


“Rhaegar mentioned something about meeting Bran in the godswood.” Lyanna says in confusion. Jon raised an eyebrow at his mother and then at the man who raised, as the laughter began to fade. “I guess we shall learn what secrets my son carries with him.” Ned remarks, as Lyanna placed a comforting hand on Ned’s shoulder causing Jon to feel a little unsettled about the change in his mother’s actions towards the man who raised him. Robb placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder taking his attention away from his mother and uncle.

“I know you are still trying to figure out who you are and how your parents fit in your life. Aunt Lyanna and our father are brother and sister, they scrabble and have moments of disappointment, that is their relationship that has nothing to do with us.” Robb says, as Jon sighs and rolls his eyes knowing his brother is right,”Remember you always wanted your mother as a boy and begged the old gods to give her to you, all I am saying is give your parents room in your heart and get to know them, they deserve that after all they went through to bring you into this world.” Robb continues as a dark look passes through his blue eyes. Jon looks back at him, astonished that Robb even remembered such a thing. 

“Robb what’s wrong?” Jon asks, sensing a change in his older brother. “Because of my selfish actions I lost both my wife and unborn son. I don’t want you to hold onto any regrets that you never let your parents in or even took the time to get to know them.” Robb replies as Jon nodded his head. Placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a comforting squeeze letting Robb know that no matter what he would always be there for him. “Thank Robb for telling me all of this and reminding me of things that I had forgotten.” Jon says, with both a hint of honesty and sadness. It’s a difficult thing to reconcile, who he is, and who he should be. “I became the King the North after you, as the bastard of Ned Stark. I admired that man so much, and now I’m someone, something else. A half dragon, half wolf, is it?” Jon says. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m half fish, brother.” Robb replies, and they laugh together.

They walked around in the family crypts that held old kings of winter and old Stark lords from the past. “Lya I don’t know if you noticed that I placed you in the family crypts?’ Ned whispers, causing her to pause and look at him with surprise in her grey eyes. “Yes?” Lyanna asks, wondering what he meant by this. “Our father always told us that family crypt only buried the lords of our family and no one else.” Ned explains, Lyanna stiffens and looks at Ned with pure surprise and love shining in her own mirror grey eyes. A couple of tears roll down her rosy cheeks as she throws herself into Ned’s unexpected arms causing him to stumble a couple of steps.  
  
He wraps his arms around her, “I am so very sorry for even suggesting to father that you marry Robert. I was so blinded by the love that I had for him that I didn’t see him for the man that he truly was. I am also sorry for even allowing Jon to go to the wall, I should have had him fostered by Howland Reed or even Alaric Dayne before he died, before sending him to the wall. I truly thought that he would be safe there, but I was very wrong.” Ned replies, admitting all of his mistakes to his sister and telling her how sorry he truly is. Lyanna pulls an inch away from Ned’s circle of arms as even more tears roll down her cheeks at her older brother's admission, “I understand Ned, I truly do, I have anger and I’m learning to let that go, I don’t blame you. I love you so much big brother.” Lyanna says, as she once again hugs him, but still holding on to a little of her anger.   


  
“Well, now that you are all here. I can introduce you all to Brynden Rivers: the great bastard to Aegon the unworthy, formerly known as the hand to many of the Targaryen kings, and lord commander at one time.” Bran says, hauntingly to his family who are now all gathered in the godswood looking at an old man connected to the heart tree. Jon and Rhaegar’s eyes widened at the mention of another family member in their presence even if he was a bastard, everyone had assumed that Daenerys was the last Targaryen in the world. Ned glances at Bran with both a concerned look and surprise in his grey eyes, for this was not the ten year old boy he remembered. “How are you still alive?” Lyanna asks, in absolute confusion. The old man suddenly opened his one red eye causing them all to jump as his red eye looks at Lyanna and he sighs. “The weirwood heart tree beyond the wall helped me live along with the powers of being the three-eyed-raven.” Brynden replies, with a husky tone and a roll of his eye as his eye looks over at Bran. 

“The weirwood trees hold a lot of power but your kind cut them down and burned them. Making it more and more difficult for us to help nature, keep the balance, and cleanse the water.” Leaf says, bitterly as she walks out from the shadows. Everyone gasps besides Bran, as they see a little childlike girl with green skin and golden eyes approaching them. What appears to be an eyebrow is raised as she looks at all of them, “This is Leaf, she is one of only six remaining children of the forest left in the world.” Bran explains, with a wave of creepiness in his voice. 

“Bran Stark, I know you want to tell your family about why they are here and the great other. But, that can wait until after you have eaten!” Meera Reed responds hotly, with a hand on her hip and her other pointing at his chest. Bran’s blue eyes widen for the first time since any of his family has been reunited with him and they look at her with shock clear on their faces. Bran blushes what seems like ten shades of red as he mumbles something they can’t hear to her, and she just rolls her green eyes at him. “You have told me that before and haven’t eaten for days.” Meera huffs back at him. 

As Bran sighs looking at her for a second then turning to look at his family, who are staring at him with a bewildered look on their faces, “Meera has decided that I must eat. Leaf or Brynden can explain about the great other. The reason you are back will have to wait for another day.” Bran says, with genuine displeasure written all over his face as Meera grabbed onto the handles of his wheelchair and wheeled him out of the godswood towards the castle.   


__________________________________________________________________

For the first in a long while, centuries even, there are dragons flying above Highgarden. Lady Olenna Tyrell sits at the high table of Highgarden, watching the armies move out in well-formed lines, and moving wagons and grain to the ships, as well as the gold and harvested crops of cabbage and potatoes. It's a little unsettling, but it’s better than being subject to Cersei’s sadistic whims. She’s almost as bad as Joffrey if not worse. 

Her door creaks open and it’s Willas, walking on his cane gingerly, but with a letter in hand. He says not a word to her, but looks like something is on his mind. He tosses the note on the table and she picks it up. 

Two roses bloom in Winterfell. A golden rose missing a crown, and a thorny, green rose, protected by wolves. The wolves march south to feast on a host of lions, and the Harbor where they meet is white. The roses are comfortable and treated honorably, and shall remain north until our paths cross again. Tell the old rose that the roses escaped the green flame just in time, but the knight of flowers and the fat flower did not make it out, surrounded by sparrows. The thorns we have shall strangle the lion as best they can. 

Olenna reads the letter a second and third time, and then dismisses everyone except Willas. Willas sits down with a serious look on his face now.

“Garlan saved Margaery, and she’s alive?” Olenna asks. Willas nods his head. It excites her more than she thought it would. “More’s the pity of Loras and Mace, they never could get their heads out of their own asses.” Olenna continues. 

“So the Lannister bitch wants to attack the North in the dead of winter? She’s even more foolish than I thought. What kind of idiot would trek a frozen wasteland, just to try to avenge her stupid son? Sansa didn’t even kill him.” Olenna snorts. Willas narrows his eyes at her. 

“That’s right, it was me, you oaf, don’t look at me like that. You thought I’d let Margaery marry him?” She asks while Willas shrugs in acquiescence. “Are you sure about this Queen, grandmother?” Willas asks. “It’s a little late to be asking me that, isn’t it boy? You see those armies out there? The dragons? That’s the only thing keeping us safe right now. Randyl Tarly turned tail and I’d rather see him burned than take my chances with Cersei, wouldn't you?” Olenna retorts.

Willas puts his head down. “Fair point.”

“Now pack your things, we are going to Dragonstone, we will not fall prey to that mad woman sitting the Iron Throne.” Olenna says. “Yes, grandmother.” Willas says, “Now walk me out to the fields, you bloody oaf.” Now the armies march the wagons of grain and gold, harvest vegetables, and citizens, servants and lords alike. 

The black dragon swoops down and lands before everyone, startling them all, but not moving any closer. Daenerys Targaryen drops down off the dragon, then the black dread reborn takes flight and swirls around in the air with the other two filling the skies. “Thank you for your faith, Lady Olenna. I hope I can repay it in kind, and I now know that at least I’m better than Cersei.” Daenerys says.

“That’s for damn sure.” Olenna replies. “I’m glad to be alive, Your Grace, and I’m glad you’re not just a pretty face. Show yourself better than Cersei and you might bring meaning back to that ugly chair, so far I’m glad I took my chances on you. I just want to live to see a lion or two burn, you think you can manage that?” Olenna asks. Daenerys laughs and goes back to the troops, speaking to them in High Valyrian, amused at the Queen of Thorns.

“I’ll do just that, Lady Olenna, I’ll not keep you waiting for long. I mean to march on the capital once she invades the north, the stupid woman would invade the North while the dragon breathes down her neck. We shall be laughing at her stupidity soon, my Lady.” Daenerys says, and then Olenna stops her. “Never underestimate a Lannister, Your Grace, your father did so to his folly. She’s a wild animal, cornered and desperate. There is no telling what she will do.” Daenerys nods in understanding.

The lot of them make it to the ships, some bound for Dragonstone, and some for White Harbor. The Queen of Thorns seems to have a new lot in life, after finding out about Garlan saving Margaery, and she hopes to help the North for helping them, any way she can. 

Sending food to White Harbor will be a good start, Olenna thinks as she drifts off to sleep, dreaming about Randyll Tarly’s head on a spike, next to Cersei’s. It later turns to a nightmare and she sees Loras and Mace on those same spikes, and then it turns it to her seeing her own head on the spike, before it all goes up in a green inferno. It felt like there was a set of eyes watching it all with indifference.

  
______________________________________________________________ 

  
“The old gods decided to act once it was we all knew it was time to face the Long Night once more. All for the prince that was promised to better tip the scales of life than for us all to die, they reasoned.” Leif said, one of the children of the forest. Her yellow eyes skirted between all those that were present in the godswood, unnerving all of them. “I don’t even know how to be this “prince that was promised.” Jon replies, still skeptical about this prophecy. Brynden rolled his one red eye as he glanced over at Leif, who also shakes her head.“Do you have moments in your life that you can’t account for and can’t explain? Are there times that you seem to be stronger than the average person and do you have dreams of a shadow lover?” Leif asks, with a raise of her tree brown eyebrow. 

Jon stiffens as he begins to think back to his childhood and his time at the wall, his face becomes pale as he realizes the truth behind her words. “This means that Jon is the one who will lead us through the Long Night? He is Azor Ahai reborn?” Sansa asks, with confusion written all over her face. Jon turns as he looks at his little sister, he was still both shocked and his face was still pale as he tried to process this new information. “Yes.” Leaf replies, matter of factly, looking at the group waiting for the next round of obvious questions. Ned opens his mouth only for the sound of crunching snow becoming louder and the gate to the godswood squeaking open alerting them of an uninvited guest.

  
“Your Grace, we have never spoken, and I want to remedy that.” A voice says from behind Jon, Sansa, and Arya. Sansa’s head swivels around quickly at the sound of Petyr Baelish, her blue eyes widen and she too becomes pale. Jon slowly turns as he sees the smirking little finger in the most sacred place to his family and now he is tainiting with his very presence. “I didn’t know we let rats in the godswood now.” Arya snered, looking at the skinny man like she wanted to stab him with the point of her needle. Petyr just chuckled at the reactions of each one of the Starks, his catlike eyes finding amusement in all of this. “Lord Baelish this a sacred place for the Stark family and only family are permitted here. You do not belong, My Lord.” Jon says, trying to keep his voice calm and even. 

  
Petyr keeps his unreadable half-smile as he takes a step forward only to bump into someone else along the way. Little finger rights himself and looks up into the grey eyes of the man he betrayed, his catlike green eyes widen with shock. Before he can recover enough to react, Ned Stark grabs him by the collar, “This man is responsible for the near ruin of our house, he blamed Tyrion Lannister for the cutthroat coming for Bran and then he held a knife to my throat and surrendered me to Joffrey. He claimed he supported me the whole time while he was plotting with the Lannisters.” Ned announces, with anger dripping with each word he says. Brandon Stark, former Lord Stark charged headfirst at Petyr Baelish knocking him to the muddy ground. 

Petyr punches Brandon in the jaw causing him to fall on the ground next to him. Ned stiffens as he sees Petyr reaching for a dagger that was hidden in his coat pocket. Ned knocked out the dagger from the unsuspecting Lord Baelish’s hand and punched him upside his right cheekbone causing him to fall back to the ground. Brandon groans but stands up and rushes over to where Little finger now lay and kicks him as Jon stands there observing the scene and only Sansa seems to have to have a look of concern on her face. Though she makes no move to stop either her father or uncle from beating the sly man who has tormented her all in the name of protecting her. 

“Don’t kill him.” Jon orders, loudly shocking Ned back into reality as he stood poised to deliver one more punch but shook his head and moved away from the pitiful man. ‘“This man deserves to die.” Brandon says, he punches him once more, the little man pleading for mercy from the onslaught of all the brutal blows he had just received. “I said. Don’t. Kill him.” Jon snarls, with Ghost growling his own reply. “We put men on trial for murder, and only once found guilty, will his head be removed. Am I understood in this matter?” Jon snarls out in a commanding tone. “I-” Brandon says, but Lyanna silences him with a snarl. “Do not undermine my son’s authority. He is the King in the North and you will treat him as such, Brandon Stark. Have you forgotten your place, dear brother?” Lyanna continues to ask Brandon with anger clear in her voice and in her eyes. Brandon stops his punching of Littlefinger and huffs as he angrily walks out of the godswood not even looking back.

Robb picks up Lord Baelish from the ground while his father dusts off his clothes.“Lord Baelish, I took you for a man. I can see I was mistaken. I’ll be on my way.” Ned says, he leaves the blood dripping from Littlefinger’s face and noise, bruises will surely start to form later on. Robb sighs as he watches his father leave the godswood as if the seven hells itself were biting at his heels. Lord Baelish stands there looking stunned, “Take him to the cells.” Jon says, with a wave of his hand to one of the guards at the entrance to the godswood.  
  
_____________________________________________________________

  
  
After the scene in the godswood Arya sneaks away to the chambers Jon had made up for her. She sits on her bed with a fire going in the hearth to warm her cold body, which she finds odd since she was born in the north and used to be able to handle the cold. Arya pulls out the Valyrian steel dagger that Bran had gifted her once they had reunited, she begins sharpening it. She rolls her grey eyes as soon as she hears a knock on her door knowing who is on the other side, “Come in Sansa.” Arya says, frustrated that no one in her family can understand when she wants to be left alone. The door opens with a surprised looking Sansa who also had one raised eyebrow, “How did you know it was me?” She asks, with both awe and fright. “The sound of your feet, you always did walk loudly, and the way you knock.” Arya replies, back quickly not even looking away from sharpening her knife. 

Causing Sansa to scoff, “I do not walk loudly, I am a lady I will have you know.” Sansa says, clearly insulted. Arya just shrugs all the while sharpening her blade ignoring Sansa completely, this angered Sansa even more. “Where have you been all this time? Why do you carry so many weapons? Why do you keep looking at me like you want to stab me?” Sansa asks her, causing Arya to pause just for a second in her work. To smile at her older sister and go on sharpening her dagger. “I missed you Sansa, but no, I think won’t answer any of your questions.” Arya replies, snidely. Sansa glares at Sansa, then begins looking around Arya’s rather spacious room. Sansa gets a mischievous smirk on her lips once she sees Arya’s belongings in the corner of the room, she begins rummaging through them, Arya doesn’t seem at all bothered to stop her. “You are still the same annoying Sansa aren’t you? Well, I hope you find what you are looking for.” Arya says, in return to her sister.

  
Arya smirks, when she hears Sansa back up and drop the bag, breathing heavily. Though she is surprised that she didn’t hear Sansa shriek. Looks as though the rumors about her sister becoming a little harder were true after all. “What is that?” Sansa asks, fearfully. Though she looks back at the bag containing the faces, “Is that Walder Frey?” Sansa continues to ask. Arya smiles as she stops sharpening her dagger. “House Frey was visited by a faceless man. This faceless man then killed Black Walder and Lothar Frey and carved them into pies. Lord Walder ate that pie before he got his throat slit by a young girl. Then a faceless man wore his face and invited the rest of the Freys to the Twins, where they were all poisoned, the last thing that this young girl told them was that the North Remembers.” She says with a stinging tear from all of those horrible memories working it’s way down her cheek.

Sansa’s breathing returns to normal, and then she stares directly in Arya’s eyes. “Good. I’m glad they got what they deserved.” Arya nods, thinking about slitting Cersei’s throat as she looks at the shining metal of the dagger while she sharpens it. “Lady Arya, I was wondering if Lady Sansa was with you?” a young woman asks, outside of Arya’s chamber door. “Yes and you may enter.” Arya replies, with another roll of eyes in frustration. The creaks open and Arya eyes work over to the door, concealing the dagger should it become necessary. “Lady Sansa?” 

Arya’s eyes work over to the door, concealing the dagger should it become necessary. “Lady Sansa?” The young lady asks, she has long tawny braided hair. Her near midnight blue eyes danced around the room searching for the woman in question, she wore a grey gown with a golden rose embroidered all throughout her gown. “Margaery Tyrell?” Sansa asks, dumbfoundedly. Arya raises an eyebrow as she watches her sister smile at Lady Margaery Tyrell, who has also enamored her brother Robb as well. She makes a mental note of checking out this lady most of her family seemed to care about so much. 

  
Sansa and Margaery embrace holding onto each other knowing the other had a rough time since they had split ways, trauma seemed to have a way of uniting people from the farthest of distances. “Garlan, my older brother rescued me from Kings Landing just before Cersei blew up the Sept of Baelor. I would have been there as well in the explosion along with my father and brother Loras. If Garlan hadn’t done what he did.” Margaery says, as she recounts her survival to Sansa. Arya’s grey eyes widen as she listens to this Tyrell recounting her story to Sansa. Sensing no threat from Lady Margaery, she puts her dagger away. 

  
“Cersei forced Tommen to watch the Sept of Baelor and he committed suicide. Though she never seemed to care much for Tommen as she did for Joffrey and Myrcella.” Margaery continues to say, with a haunted expression appearing on in her midnight blue eyes. “I can’t believe a mother would do that to her son.” Arya says, in disbelief. She knew that Cersei was evil but had always believed that Cersei had done everything for her children and herself now she wasn’t so sure. “He wanted to be free of his mother who not only used him for his power but also blamed him for her walk of shame.” Margaery replies, as her blue eyes look in disgust. “She is telling the truth.” Arya tells Sansa, causing Sansa to side-eye her. But seems to accept what Arya has just said, “Why come here?” Sansa asks, Margaery. 

  
“I thought we were friends.” Margaery says, with a narrow of her dark blue eyes as she regards Sansa with distrust now. Sansa stiffens at the sudden change in Margaery, “Well, we certainly aren’t enemies. I didn’t know if you were faking or not, I was a naive little girl, who had just lost her father. I will not betray your trust, and we can be glad to be rid of Joffrey.” Sansa says, with a slight smile. Arya looks back and forth between them, searching their faces for deception, and finding none, surprisingly. “Did you kill Joffrey?” Arya asks, the one question she has been wanting to ask her sister. Sansa and Margaery turn to look at her with trepidation, both of them shake their head truthfully. “I wanted to be the one to do it. I suppose I won’t get the chance..” Arya says, fiddling with her blade. 

  
“My grandmother, Olenna, was the one who did it.”Margaery says, to the surprise of both Arya and Sansa.“With Littlefinger’s help.” Sansa replies, as she shakes her head trying to process the information that Olenna had a hand in Joffrey’s death. “Well, the little shit is dead. If there is someone that either of you need killed. Just say their name, and a girl shall do the rest.” Arya says, with still fiddling with her dagger. Margaery turned to look at the shorter and younger of the two Stark sisters with a raised eyebrow, and a look of dread passing through her eyes. Sansa on the other hand shuddered, side-eying her sister knowing she was telling the truth.“I don’t think I need that, young Stark girl. But there is something I would ask of you, both of you.” Margaery says, her cheeks slightly reddening. Sansa doesn’t exactly look pleased. “What is it?” Sansa asks.“Will you tell me all about Robb?” Margaery asks, with a hint of embarrassment. 

_____________________________________________

Ned is pacing back and forth in his rooms feeling on edge as he once again looks at the letters that Ashara had sent him that had been opened. He closes his eyes, letters he had never seen nor opened himself, he never knew she had carried his child or he would never have left her. He clutches the letters to his chest as eyes begin welling up with tears, this was just another mistake on top of a long list of mistakes he has made. He thinks to himself as he opens his eyes and dashes his tears away from the corners of his eyes, Ned jumps as a knock on his door causes him to hide his letters under his pillows. “You may enter.” Ned says he grabs ahold of his dagger as his door opens revealing Lyanna and Rhaegar. Ned sets his dagger down on his bed and raises an eyebrow at his sister and good brother, “Ned, what’s wrong?” Lya asks, her older brother with true concern shining in her grey eyes. 

“Jon, found letters that had been opened. That I had never received nor opened them. But Catelyn opened them, Ashara wrote to me right before the rebellion started that she had become pregnant with my child.” Ned replies, as he sinks down onto the bed he had been sleeping on earlier. Lyanna gasps looking at her brother in shock as she turns to look at her husband, who was also looking at him in shock. “This is just another betrayal in a long list of betrayals that she has done to our family.” Ned continues, as a lone tear streams down his cheek.   


“We will make her pay for this.” Rhaegar says, with all seriousness in his voice. His indigo shines with a fire that Lyanna has not seen awakened since they hadn’t gotten news that the rebellion had gotten to the point that he had to face Robert on the Trident. Catelyn had awakened the dragon, Lyanna nodded her agreement as she turned to look back at Ned who was currently hurting in a way she hadn’t seen him before. She now realized that Ned understood Rhaegar and her position with Jon now perfectly as sad as it was. This somehow bonded them even more than they had before, she walks over to Ned and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “No one messes with our family and gets away with it. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives with fire and blood.” Lyanna says, with a dangerous smile on her lips.

The door to Ned’s room opens once more revealing Jon, who smiled at the sight of all three of his parents in the same room together. “Am I interrupting?” Jon asks, shyly as his feet shuffle on the hard floor of one of his father’s rooms.“You could never interrupt.” All three of them say at the same time causing them to look at each other with raised eyebrows and feeling a bit uncomfortable.“I have something for all three of you and wanted to give it to you all.” Jon says, awkwardly. As Ned motions for Jon to come into his room and shakes head at his son, he was so used to him acting this way. Jon smiles as he walks into the room shutting the door after himself, he pulls out what looks like three swords. 

Jon hands Rhaegar’s his sword, on the pommel it has a three headed dragon with a grey direwolf in the center, each of the dragon’s eyes have red gems in them, the direwolf has a blue gem. Rhaegar smiles as he pulls the sword from the scabbard and begins testing its weight by doing some strikes in the air with it. “Thank you son, I love it.” Rhaegar says, as he sheathes the sword back into its scabbard. Jon nods his head, “The amazing thing about the sword is that it's Valyrian steel.” Jon replies, shocking all three of them. Jon doesn’t seem to notice as he pulls the second one from the scabbard and hands it to Lyanna, “I had this made for you mother, it was once known as Blackfyre.” Jon says, causing Rhaegar and Lyanna to freeze. They looked at Jon in both shock and surprise, then looked down at the sword that had a winter rose on the pommel of the sword. “I love it.” Lyanna says, as she grabs the sword and buckles it around her waist. 

“When I met you, my true parents, I felt a great deal of anger, because you represented all that I had lost. The mistake I made is not realizing what I had gained, and for that I’m sorry. It’s no easy thing to have your entire life flipped on its head right before your eyes, but then I didn’t realize that you must have had something similar happen to you both. Let us make great strides in being a family, shall we?” Jon asks, with a smile at both of his parents. Lyanna hugs her son, excited to get to know him better, and the feeling is more than she ever knew it could be. “I would love nothing more.” Rhaegar says in return. Lyanna is beaming, like a child on their name day. 

  
Ned smiles as he watches the reunion between his sister and his nephew, then his smile fades as he wonders what his own reunion with the children he had never known would be like. Hoping both in his heart and in his mind that it will be just as good as what they are having now. “Father, I have something for you as well.” Jon says, tapping Ned’s shoulder. Causing Ned to jump and look around, “Sorry Jon.” Ned replies. Lyanna nods in understanding at her older brother and she walks around Rhaegar to her older brother.“I know that ice was melted down. So, I had another sword made. Aemon at the wall had these valyrian steel swords that he gave me and wanted me to keep.” Jon explains, as he hands Ned a long sword that had a grey direwolf and a shooting star on its pommel, causing Ned to smile. “I love it Jon.” Ned says, as he hugs Jon and pulls his sister into the hug with him.

  
“Any mention of dead men with blue eyes, White Walkers, and dragonglass I am to take with the utmost seriousness?” Lord Eddard asks Jon.“Aye Lord Stark, this is the truth. There are too many of them to deal with on our own. Unless you can bring back the Kings of Winter, we have need of allies.” Jon replies. “The black brother I beheaded, Gared, was his name, I think. He spoke true that day, didn’t he?” Ned asks Jon. “Aye, he told the truth, Lord Stark. But he is dead now and we are not. Let’s not relitigate the past and use what we know to shape our future.”

  
“I wish you the best in your leadership in this cold winter, Lord Eddard Stark. I certainly believe you are up to this task.” Lyanna says sincerely, and hugs her big brother.   
__________________________________________________________________

  
Meera Reed comes into the chambers with a stern look on her face. “Bran wishes to see Lyanna, and Rhaegar. He has much to say to them and help them on their ways.” Meera announces. They prepare themselves and go together to the godswood, to meet with Bran. It’s perhaps the first time that they feel like a complete family. It is all any of the three of them ever wanted. Lyanna kisses Jon’s brow and then goes hand in hand with Rhaegar to the godswood. Snowy grounds and frozen land cover the godswood, making it feel ominous and yet still bright. Marked by the somber mood and the accompanying silence of Bran, not looking their way, but always aware of their presence.

“Thank you for joining me. There are things that we must discuss. Though, I know you must have questions. I would have you ask them of me.” Bran says, staring off in the distance.

Lyanna’s hands tremble, and Rhaegar holds them steady. “Where did we go wrong?” Rhaegar asks.“You made some minor mistakes, that rolled into an avalanche that started to crush the seven kingdoms. There were others that all but assured your downfalls as well. You, Rhaegar, if you were going to depose your father, you would have needed to kill him. He was paranoid after Duskendale, and then your mother started losing children, that would have turned some sane men mad, and he was already on that path.” Bran says, as the red leaves blow in the winds, swirling around in circles.

Rhaegar looks away in shame. Lyanna comforts him. “You were too conflicted with prophecy, if it’s true it will happen on it’s own, with no regard for any outside forces. You can do little to alter its course. Furthermore, your family, you should have trusted more than just Jaime Lannister. The Martells could have protected them better than anyone, but you never sent word that they were in danger. Though, I will admit that some of your ravens were not received as intended. The raven that Lady Lyanna sent never made it past Riverrun.”

“Hoster Tully?” Lyanna asks. “Brandon had already marched south to Kings Landing and Lord Hoster Tully knew that he was not long for this world. How better to secure his legacy than to marry his daughter to her brother who was honor bound to her, and spearheading the North?” Bran says with no hints of emotion on his face.Lyanna looks perturbed at the situation. “Wasn’t Lord Tully your grandfather, you would speak this way of your blood?” 

Bran just stares at her, without the slightest of twitches on his face. “Hoster Tully being my blood doesn't change the truth. Too many people in Westeros cover the sins of their own blood, if not for that, we may have half as many problems in the Seven Kingdoms.” Lyanna and Rhaegar don’t know what to make of that. It rings true, but it’s also something that they are guilty of. “There are more things you need to know, if you will take me to the Heart Tree, there may be things I can show you. You should know that I’m not exactly Bran Stark, I wear his face and his body, but I’m also more than that.” Bran says. Lyanna looks concerned, but not Rhaegar, he quickly wheels Bran over to the tree and watches as he places his hand on the Weirwood, and his eyes go white for a moment before turning back to Rhaegar. 

“You’ll see what you don’t want to see. As well as what you must. You may learn some things, and you may lose some things. Are you prepared?” Bran asks. Rhaegar puts his hand up without hesitation. Lyanna shrieks just before his hand touches the pale bark of the Weirwood. “Wait,” she says. Rhaegar looks back at her with concern, but not taking his hand away. “Do you know what you are doing, Rhaegar? I don’t want you to do anything that might break you.” Lyanna says, with worry in her voice.“My dear Lyanna, I reason with you that not a single person has ever known what they are doing, least of all me.” Rhaegar says, placing his hand on the Weirwood. Lyanna just looks on with worry and wonders what she can do to dissuade him from doing that. 

“I can show you what kind of man your son is…” Bran says. Now her shoulders stiffen and nearly instantly she puts her hand right on Rhaegar’s. “Show me.” Lyanna says, to a nodding Bran. Together the three of them fly, looking over the past, and seeing Jon’s life for themselves. It’s an odd feeling that the two of them get, seeing their son’s life and how much like the both of them he is. When he cried for his mother in the godswood. His treatment by Lady Catelyn. His time with the Wildlings on the other side of the wall. But their guts wrench when they see him stabbed by his own brothers on the wall. Lying in a pool of his own blood.

They return to the present and look at each other with concern. “No wonder he doesn’t trust anyone.” Lyanna says. Rhaegar nods his head. “Knowledge must be accompanied by a willingness to act. We know now, and it’s time that we do something, if we can affect the seven kingdoms in such a way as to break them apart, then perhaps when can bring them together. We shall do what we can to help our son. There was a time when I was the crown prince and all eyes were upon my every move. I have new found freedom, as well as the love of my life. I shall not squander either of these opportunities.” Rhaegar says. 

“I love you Rhaegar, we will get this right. We got another chance to make something of our meaningless existences, and this time without the burden of the crown.” Lyanna says, kissing him, as Bran looks into the distance. Brynden Rivers stays in his vegetative state, silent as a whisper. The mark on his arm starts to glow a little, glowing a bright blue, but then it fades to it’s pale grey color.

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Ashara and Ser Arthur Dayne boarded a dornish ship that contained her children. A true smile appears on her red lips as she waits for the ship to dock at the port of Dragonstone. The ship finally docks though not fast enough for Ashara’s tastes, two rather large direwolves come barrelling from the ship once the bridge has been placed down for people to walk across. The direwolves each have light grey fur and shocking blue eyes, they begin licking her hands as she pets them still waiting for her children to arrive off the ship and greet her. Ashara smiles as she remembers the day that Lord Howland Reed arrived at Starfall with the two pups in hand though now both of them have become fearsome monsters some would say.

The eldest of her twins Daynna Sand, walks off the ships and shakes her head at her direwolf’s behavior. Ashara smiles as she looks at the daughter that Arthur swore mirrored her in all ways. Daynna wears a dainty blue dress that on her chest is a falling star embroidered upon it, the dress also concealed two small daggers and a sword that she kept with her at all times. She has the same black hair and violet eyes as her mother, though had traces of her father as well. Daynna is a gentle soul, with a kind heart, but a fierce protective streak over her family, much the same as her direwolf named Snow.  
  
Ulrick the youngest of her twins appears next, he is in light armor covered by boiled leather and grey trousers. A long bastard sword hangs around his waist, the pommel of the sword has a falling star, and is fashioned to be a little like Dawn. Ulrick has the same dark hair and grey eyes as his father, and his same sense of honor. He had been trained by his own uncle, Ser Arthur, he couldn’t ask for a better teacher. Ulrick was also very sensitive which warmed her heart even more, having had the joy to raise two such amazing children. “It warms your mother’s heart to see you both alive and well.” Ashara says, as she walks over to them becoming impatient. She pulls both of her children into her arms and hugs both of them fiercely as Ulrick kisses his mother’s forehead. 

“Tell me about your journey and how were the preparations?’ She asks her children. Ulrick and Daynna look at each other with apprehension, as Ulrick nudges Daynna causing her to both glare and sigh. “ I trained with Ser Gerold Dayne, also known as the Darkstar. I learned quite a lot from him, until I was able to disarm him and he got angry with me. He is too headstrong and gets angry very easily, he came at me again but I was able to disarm many more times. Ulrick came in and saved me at the last moment, he told Gerold, that stars are beautiful. They shine bright with elegance, and that must be reflected in your swordplay. Especially since he’s not a bastard like me.” Dayanna says, as she both huffs and shakes her head as she looks at her brother.

Ashara sighs Ulrick has always been a stern boy with a great sense of honor,Oh, Ned, if you could see this boy now, and your daughter, such a lady… Lady Ashara thinks to herself. “Gerold has made his choices, it’s good that you were able to humble him a bit, Ulrick. You can only show a man the truth, it’s on him to accept it.” She tells him. “Nevertheless, I am proud of you.” He gives her a half smile, as he nods his head in understanding.

“Are either of you going to tell me what’s bothering you? I see it upon your faces. I hear it in your voices, there’s something that weighs upon your minds and I’ll not have it hidden from me.” Lady Ashara says with her arms folded in a serious manner. “We are afraid that our father won’t like us along with our siblings.” both of them say, at the same time. Causing her to sigh and look at her brother for support, “Your father will love you both very much.” Ashara says, knowing in her heart that it was the truth. Though the only fear she has is that Lord Eddard Stark will once again take the heart that has never left his hands and leave her broken once more.She also hopes taking their children north is not a mistake.

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“Ned, why are you letting this boy run all over you? Are you not going to say anything?” Brandon says to his brother. Lord Eddard just shakes his head and continues shuffling papers. “That boy is my King Brandon, and he’s the son of Rhaegar. He also happens to be the boy I raised, and our sister’s son, he deserves our respect. He’s more of a king than I’ve seen in a long while, and now I believe he’s off to fight for us. I’d hold my tongue if I were you.” Ned says. “What have you even been doing to prepare us for Winter, since you want to criticize?” Ned asks.

Brandon blushes a bit, but rises up to his feet in anger. “What I do is none of your concern, Ned!” 

“Brandon Stark!” shouts from the practice yard heard throughout Winterfell, though not for the first time.

The swords clanging out in the yard are the only sounds that Lord Eddard can hear as he sighs, looking at his brother, the hot-heated Wild Wolf. “What have you done now, Brandon? Gods I swear that you are the wolfblood, born into one man. Between you and Lyanna, I don’t know what to do with either of you. I see how our Lord Father must have felt.” Brandon charges out into the practice yards and everyone stands still, before moving out of the way. Everyone but Garlan Tyrell that is. 

Garlan takes a sword and stabs it into the ground, then grabs another, pointing to it and then hands it to Brandon. “Alla, my cousin, informed me that you have taken her maidenhood, Brandon Stark. You shall honor her with your marriage, or I shall have your head, right here and right now.” 

Brandon grabs the sword and inspects it, looking it over with scrutiny, then he points it at Garlan with a serious look, nearly a growl. “Look at you with your roses on your armor, you presume to tell me what I shall do. You southron knights know naught of the Northmen. You are only here by our good graces.” 

The practice yard starts murmuring. Lord Eddard just sighs and backs away from the scene, shaking his head at the brother that just can’t watch his mouth. “When will you learn brother?” Lord Eddard says, as he watches his brother charge at Garlan Tyrell. 

Brandon swings his blade at Garlan, a boisterous swing of the sword, trying to disarm the Reach man. Garlan sidesteps and disarms Brandon by butting his sword against Brandon’s hand, while the Wild Wolf mutters curses. The knight of Tyrell stares him down, and Brandon picks up the sword again, ready to try again. “A good strike, I took you too lightly. Here it comes now.” Brandon shouts. Ser Garlan just gestures for Brandon to come on with it. 

Brandon’s approach is now more reserved, and he swings a dull strike, probing the knight for footwork and fundamentals. Ser Garlan parries the lazy strikes easily, not giving anything away, or wasting a movement. Now the Wild Wolf lunges at the Reach knight, to throw him off balance. Garlan just trips him, and Ned looks at the footsteps of the two, in the snow. Brandon’s steps are all over the place in a wild fashion, and Ser Garlans steps are reserved and not wasteful at all. 

“Ser Garlan is a true knight.” Ned says to no one in particular. 

Brandon howls, breathing heavy and tries to onslaught Ser Garlan, who parries every blow easily, not breaking a sweat. Finally Ser Garlan decides to go on offense, striking at Brandon’s glaringly blind areas, he pokes at the direwolf armor on the torso, first left then right, then lands a riposte on the armor’s shoulder, like a beautiful play, as the light snows fall over the practice field.. 

“This is the difference between pride and honor Brandon Stark. I fight for honor and you for pride. Pride will always lose, but you owe my cousin an apology. You will marry her, and you will do right by her, or these blows will be felt even more fiercely. Do you yield?” Ser Garlan asks. With a grunt, the Wild Wolf prepares for his strike. The two men trade blows, with neither of them gaining the upper hand, trading strikes and parries, but Ned notices that Ser Garlan has not moved back a bit. For a time, they trade blows again with dangerous swings and slight twists, but then the Reach knight punches Brandon, sending him into the dirt once more. “You cannot beat me with such wild and ferocious strikes, you may be a wolf, but I am not a mewling rabbit for you to snatch up.” Garlan says, still staring his opponent down.

Brandon charges again, trying to catch the knight, and then Ser Garlan steps back out of the way, parrying the swing of the blade and disarming Brandon once again in his impatience. Now Ser Garlan stands over Brandon with a blade at his throat, before Brandon finally yields to Ser Garlan. “I’ll marry her, I swear it, I yield.” Brandon says, then Ser Garlan stabs his blade in the ground. “You have heard it here Lord Eddard. Keep your brother to his word.”

“Aye, Ser Garlan, I didn’t know the reach had such outstanding knights.” Ned says to Garlan.

“We must do something as a second son, to earn our place, I learned my way around the sword, much as you have.” Ser Garlan says with a great point. 

Ned nods, and drags his brother back into the castle, battered and bruised, likely more on his ego than his body.

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Crunching leaves, and a rustling wind, with a slight chill in the air. He walks in the forest, unable to see past the thick bark and the flowing treetops, but a slight sense of warmth is there, like a sunlit day beating on his face. His legs are carrying him towards the source of heat, the warmest thing he has felt in a while, since his time on the Wall. What could be so warm in the midst of winter?

A thicket of trees, surrounded on all sides by greens and browns, unable to see the sky, but cool breeze blows, leading her towards the source. Deeper into the forest she goes, feeling ever more dropping temperatures, it feels like the shade in the middle of the desert. 

No animals in the forest so far, but the chirps of crickets and the wind blowing make a natural melody of serene sound. Being surrounded by trees suddenly feels quite comforting, although unfamiliar. 

Taking a few steps forward he looks up again, and it’s starting to feel unnaturally dark, like when the dead rained down of them at Hardhome, but not as cold or dreadful. Neither is it pitch black, but something odd is certainly taking place.

Trudging ever further in the forest, towards what seems like a voice in her head, there seems to be a bit of cool air, with just a bit of goosebumps on her neck, that feels great against her naturally warm disposition. 

At the source of the heat he can see a bit of light creeping through the trees, and the trees start to form strange patterns that remind him of what the warg Orell told him of the dead men and horses, beyond the wall, at the Fist of the First Men. Spiral patterns and other circular patterns with three legs, the sense of fear returns, and he puts a hand on his sword pommel. The warmth seems to be accompanied by a calming presence, however.

Deeper into the forest, the trees thin out, and form patterns, with marks on them, and it starts to feel like the House of the Undying again. It feels like she’s being pulled towards something, and even more interesting is that she has no want to resist. The chill in the air feels great, and she has the feeling for only the second time, the first being in the vision in Qarth. Curiosity has taken over her now, taking flight just as the dragons did upon their birth. A glimmer of light shines through the patterned trees now, setting her now apparent destination.

Past the spirals, trees, and the strange pattern, there is a stone there, with a warm steam coming from it and a blade, strange looking and isolated out here, and then as he gets closer, it looks like the blade is burning. A burning blade? Why would the blade be flaming? And why does it feel so familiar? He blinks his eyes to make sure he’s seeing what is there for certain, and when he does the blade is in his hand when he opens his eyes. He suddenly jumps back, but he remembers that a swordsman never drops his sword. The other strange thing is that somehow this blade with flames starts to feel more and more natural the longer it’s in his hand. He swings it and it feels light and warm, and it also feels like it’s lifting the heavy weight off of his shoulders.

Once again he almost drops the blade when he sees a beautiful woman staring at him. From his perspective, she is hotter than the flaming blade is, as mad as that sounds. They stare at each other for a time, looking upon each other’s faces, and also liking what they see, seemingly. 

Staring at the man in front of her, she has to wonder why there is a man in the forest, holding a burning sword, and yet it feels cold to her, and yet also refreshing. He’s handsome, that’s for certain, but he’s swinging a sword and she’s alone. Fear should be creeping up her body, but yet she feels calm and collected. Neither of them have yet to speak. 

The wind picks up speed in the forest, blowings leaves and dirt all around and she covers her face, so that it doesn’t get in her eyes, and he does the same, with the flame of the sword still bright in his other hand. When they cover over their eyes, they are standing directly in front of each other, looking into each other’s eyes, and they both blush a little and the closeness of the situation. She’s determined not to show him any fear, and why should a dragon fear a fire?

“Who are you?” Daenerys asks.

“Good question. I don’t know that answer, I’m searching for it, but up until this point, I have been known as Jon Snow.” He says sadly, and yet with great sincerity. She feels for him, but the heavy winds make it difficult to make a good conversation. It also feels like the trees are falling over, but the feeling of danger is not yet present. Could this be a foolish notion, why do I not feel danger?

A great roar rumbles the ground, and shakes the trees along with the wind, a roar that she doesn’t recognize, it doesn’t sound like Drogon, Viserion, nor Rhaegal, and she knows their roars well. He jumps down to the ground, and she has to chuckle, “it’s just a dragon, Jon Snow, nothing to be afraid of.”

He gets up, with the sword in his hand still, burning bright and fierce, “nothing to fear, you say? Do you know how mad you sound?” She laughs again, “If your path brings you face to face with a dragon, then perhaps you ought to examine your fear.” Now he can hear the wings flapping, and he doesn’t feel at all reassured. 

The darkness gets deeper, accompanied by toppling trees, making their way towards him, and a large dragon descends upon him, and his body is shaking in fear, and yet the woman looks like she has her brow quirked in curiosity. This dragon is heading straight towards him though, and he knows not a thing of what he must do. “What do I do in a situation like this?” He asks her, and it’s then that he notices the damned three headed dragon sigil on her dress. 

Daenerys Targaryen, she must be.  
“You pray that this dragon doesn’t mean you harm, for if he does then not even that burning sword can help you, Jon Snow.” Daenerys says. 

“Great.” He says.

Upon getting closer, the dragon opens its huge maw and draws closer to the both of them, and then everything goes dark, and they can hear nothing but the crashing waves of a beach. What is happening? 

It feels like they are in a cave now. The still burning sword being the only light source around, illuminating the black stone, and the marks of men and children, beasts and other sorts of monsters. “Dead men…” He says, while Daenerys gets closer to the light. He feels warm and comfortable around her, but he doesn’t tell her that.

“Dead men?” She replies, while he points to the paintings in the cave. “You expect me to believe this mummery that you have shown me?” He shows a pained expression on his handsome face. She still feels the same cold air, emanating from this handsome, dark haired man.

“These dead men that you don’t believe in, they are hundreds of thousands strong, they follow orders better than any soldiers you’ve ever seen, and they do not set up encampments, nor do they tire. If you keep that attitude you have then we will be wiped out by them, and you will be the Queen of nothing at all.” He says with a stern truthfulness, that she’s only seen on Ser Jorah’s face. 

“When your dreams speak to you, Your Grace, perhaps you ought to listen.” Jon Snow says and fades into nothingness. Yet still, she had not felt danger at all from him, nor deception, and she doesn’t know what to make of that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back. Took longer than expected but it's here. Thanks for your patience, we had some life things come up.

  
  


Daenerys wakes with a start as she looks around her surroundings making sure that she was no longer dreaming. Cold sweat starts trailing down her neck, but she also has a warm heart. It doesn’t feel like she ever let the man’s hand go. The thought brings a smile to her face, but she’s concerned that it’ll be difficult to find this hidden dragon. Hidden in ice and snow. She sighs in relief once she realizes that she is in fact in her chambers at Dragonstone. She lays her head back on her pillows as she recounts what happened in her dream knowing that it was more real than normal dreams were for ordinary people. Once realization from the dream hits her, from Melisandre’s request, to Tyrion’s description, to the letters she read it dawns on her just who the man of her dreams is. Jon Snow, the King in the North, her nephew and her shadow lover. Daenerys felt herself redden at finally knowing who her shadow lover truly is after all this time. Of course all the Northmen would bow to a dragon, whether they knew or not. The thought makes her stifle a laugh. There were some things that she still questions, but it has to be something that her family lives, and that means everything, though his dire warning still made her shudder. _“You will rule over a kingdom of skeletons if we don’t take care of the real threat that doesn’t care who you are or who rules over the seven kingdoms.”_ Jon Snow had told her in the dream that seemed more like a dragon dream that she has had since she was very young. Jon Snow clearly didn’t understand that the best way to deal with this threat was to take care of Cersei first and unite the seven kingdoms to have an army big enough to deal with this Night King. She shall need to convince him then, and that may not be as easy for a Northern King, stubborn by nature.

The Mother of Dragons shook her head as she turned her head to the side looking out of the terrace to see if it was morning to discuss this new information with her small council. Daenerys closes her once she sees that it is still dark outside, explaining her tiredness. She opens her eyes knowing what she needs to do. She gets out of bed and steps out of her sleeping gown and grabs the dress that Missandei laid out for her on the back of the chair in the far corner of her chambers. Daenerys sighs as she ties the lacings of her gown and tightens her bodice around her chest, she looks up to see herself in the mirror in front of the lonely candle flickering in the room. Seeing a young woman with so much pressure on her shoulders reflected in the mirror caused Daenerys to look away from her image. She places both of her hands down the fabric of her dress as she begins to feel like she was finally able to connect with who she used to be versus who she is now.

She has to steady her hands as she once again looks into the mirror as she reaches behind her head. She threads her fingers through her hair and begins sectioning her hair as she grabs her bells from the top of her dresser. She places the bells into the hair that she had sectioned into little strands to braid the bells into the Dothraki style. Daenerys meticulously braids her long silver-gold hair with the bells twisted in place securely so they wouldn’t fall out, while she went about her royal tasks. She braids the last strand into a new elaborate style Missandei had taught her just the day prior. She smiles once she pens the last strand to her braid, and then shrugs knowing it wasn’t her best job but it would work for now, until Missandei gets a hold of her. Daenerys looks once more at her reflection before she turns on her heel and opens the chamber doors, surprising her unsullied guards. She walks down the barely lit hallway that held dragons in the ancient stone carvings inlaid in the walls of the hallway. The scurrying of the servants alerted Daenerys of the start of the new day, no matter how much she both dreaded and looked forward to meeting her nephew in person.

She walks past servant chambers and the kitchens, the smells of freshly cooked bacon and sausages fill the air as she walks past. Her stomach grumbles reminding her that she had gone to bed last night before dinner was served. Daenerys walks into the grandhall of Dragonstone, she smiles as the servants place eggs, sausages, and some fruit onto her plate and hands it to her. She sits down on the table that overlooks the beach. The water began changing color with the rise of the sun with greys, oranges, pinks, and purples somehow blending very well with the looming and haunting castle of Dragonstone. Daenerys found herself fascinated with the different sunset here in Westeros verses the ones she had seen in Essos.  _ The sunset from the ocean seemed more breathtaking than the ones in the desert _ , she thinks to herself. “Daenerys. Daenerys!” A familiar voice called out to her belonging to her foster mother Quaithe. Daenerys had been so lost in her thoughts that she no longer knew what was happening around her. She had all but forgotten the food that sat uneaten on the plate in front of her. She shook her head looking around the grand hall in confusion as she came back to herself. “I am sorry, I was lost in thought.” Daenerys replied to her foster mother.

Her mismatched green and blue eyes rolled letting Daenerys know that she had heard this excuse since was six years old. A slight smile appeared on Daenerys’ red lips as she thought of her strange childhood that had led her to both Quaithe and Meraxes. “And what are these thoughts that are more important than your daily nutrients?” Quaithe asked, with a raise of a sliver eyebrow. Daenerys sighed as she felt her cheeks reddened, while the memory of the raven haired and grey eyed young man came forth in her mind's eye. “Do you remember that Shadow lover I have been seeing in my dreams since I was fourteen?” Daenerys asked, in a low tone so no one else in the grand hall breaking their fast would overhear. Quaithe’s mismatched green and blue eyes widened then seemed to shimmer with a look of knowing. “Yes I do remember being the one to tell you of the Targaryen shadow lovers that are so rare in our family that many sought out the power of the shadow lovers, it ruined quite a few lives…but also saved a few...” Quaithe replied, with a smirk appearing on her perfectly red lips.

  
  


Daenerys felt the redness of her cheeks begin to heat up under the knowing stare of her foster mother. This left her feeling both embarrassed and a young girl of thirteen telling her foster mother of her first kiss. That turned out to be in her dreams and a special bond known as Shadow lovers only gifted to two Targaryen’s that held both great power and love for those around them. “Because people desired to use the shadow lover power for the wrong reasons the ability all but vanished from our family line until you and Jon were born. This means that both of you are not only destined for great love but also being the best fresh start for our family line, true dragons.” Quaithe continued, with tears streaming down her cheeks and a proud look appearing in her mismatched blue and green eyes. “Our?” Daenerys asks, as confusion clouds her amethyst eyes. She turns her head to the side, processing what Quaithe just revealed to her. “Yes, Daenerys, our family. My name is Sheira Seastar, daughter to Aegon IV, also called Aegon the Unworthy.” Quaithe continues, as she reaches up with her milky tuned hand and removes the mask that covers her face. Daenerys shook her head and sighed, “I had a dream as a child right before I met you, that told me someone with our blood was going to find me.” Daenerys says, with a smile appearing on her pink lips. Sheira looks at her three times great-grand niece as she instinctively rolled her eyes both in amusement and also of course she should have known her little dragon would know. Sheira narrowed her eyes on Daenerys, knowing something more was bothering her foster daughter than she was willing to admit.

  
  


She had always been able to read Daenerys like the back of her hand, “Daenerys something is bothering you, what is it?” Sheira hesitantly asked, knowing she had to tread carefully when Daenerys had her walls up this high. “I feel like I am betraying our bond with getting closer to my mother, but then I feel like I am betraying her for my love that I hold for you.” Daenerys said frightenedly. Tears began welling up in her the corners of her eyes letting Sheira know that her foster daughter was both really concerned and worried by her reaction and that of her mother Rhaella. “My dear Daenerys, you have room in your amazing heart for both of us. You're allowed to love more than one person in this life.” Sheira reassuringly said, as she placed her hand over Daenerys’. The tears that Daenerys had been holding at bay broke at those words causing Daenerys to cry out and throw herself into her foster mother’s arms. “I love you.” Daenerys cried, as she clung to Sheira’s shoulders as if she was afraid of her vanishing.

“Why did you not tell me before now?” She asks Quaithe, unsure of whether to be happy or whether it stings of betrayal. “There is no good way to tell someone that I should have died long ago, and yet I don’t want you to be forced to ignore your true calling. For a Queen you are, and a Queen you must be, so you must know the truth, and let it guide you on your path. Decide your path, and let none stand in your way, let alone someone that just advises you and keeps you alive. You must know that love is the force that will bring Kingdom down if used improperly, and yet it could conquer a continent if used correctly. Do you understand what I am saying?” Quaithe demandingly asked, as she placed a hand over Daenerys’ that rested on the table in front of them. “I do.” She replies, once again getting lost in the vision that she had seen recently. She knew that this vision was leading her down a road to meet both her shadow lover and her nephew, she also knew that Quaithe was right. 

That Jon and herself had to use their love and willingness to save the people of Westeros in the right way or they would be doomed to repeat the mistakes of their family before them. Quaithe puts her mask back on and smiles at her foster daughter knowing that she was making the right choice, she quietly leaves the chambers belonging to Daenerys. Daenerys shakes her head looking up from her untouched plate and finally realizes that she is alone. A knock at her door reminds her that the council is waiting for her. “Your grace, we are ready for you.” Tyrion says with a smile on his lips. “I am happy to see that you are no longer drinking my friend.” Daenerys replies back with an answering smile appearing on her red lips. Her council files into her chambers as her stomach rumbles letting her know that she is hungry. Grey Worm walks into her chambers first, then Ser Barristan, Missandei, Tyrion, and then last Olenna. 

“Move the armies to Highgarden, we shall make our move from there. Cersei will be expecting an assault from Dragonstone, and we’ll not give her what she wants. I’ll bring the whole of Westeros to her doorstep, and relieve her of her poor rule. I shall see what comes of our alliances before we do, as I mean to know this land before I claim it as mine own.” Daenerys says, with renewed vigor. Tyrion rubs his chin in thought. “Where will you be in all this, Your Grace? You hadn’t said where the dragons will be during our march.” “I shall go to the Isle of Faces. There is something I must do.” Daenerys says with both apprehension and happiness in her tone. “Do you mean to tell us of this thing you must do my queen?” Tyrion asks. 

“Not at this moment, I have to meet with them first. I’ll send a raven if I need any reinforcements.” She replies. Grey Worm stands up and nods, then goes to follow his orders, getting the armies ready to march. Tyrion and Ser Barristan look at each other perturbed, but then they move together out of the chambers, followed by the rest of the council members. Missandei comes forward and straightens her dragon’s brooch, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, and giving her a smile that makes her happy to have a friend. A true friend that wouldn’t betray her to satisfy her own ambitions, and that means the world to Daenerys Targaryen. After Missandei leaves, she stares at a candle, imagining whether she will see the Lion burn under the flaming justice of the dragon. Drogon roars, as if he heard her.

Daenerys now goes out to the dragon’s lair, where they lift their heads up and look at her, Drogon lowering his wing as if he knows her innermost thoughts. Her mother is there, talking to the dragons, getting to know them, a feat she understands. She lost a child and it still haunts her to this day, and yet Rhaella lost several of them. It’s enough to make her heart ache for her mother. “It’s all I ever wanted to see our house not stained by...madness…” Rhaella says with a sad smile. “It’s a shame that we must part, but I want to know what becomes of Westeros with you on the throne your father ruined. He may have been a dragon after all, for everything he touched seemed to turn to ashes. Perhaps it’s up to us to make up for the lives he ruined…” Her mother says with a fire lighting in her eyes when they reach her. It must be a remarkable thing for her to be safe from harm after all this time of learning the worst possible news over and over again. It makes her resolve that much stronger, to make it so that no one has to feel threatened by those that should love them.

She mounts the black dragon and takes to the skies, looking for the Isle of Faces, the place of her dreams. It is as if a rope were tugging at her heart, and Rhaella must know it too, for the only thing she said to her daughter about it was, “follow the flames of your heart, and I hope that they do not burn you. My beautiful daughter.” It was one of the few times that someone has called her beautiful without wanting something from her.  _ Other than the times in her dreams, that is... _ Daenerys blushes at the thought. 

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Within the confines of the Red Keep, Cersei chances to look out upon the merchants and ships, smallfolk and children, soldiers and scouts. Feeling as if the world is a pile of coarse and light sand under her toes, she swirls the wine around in her goblet.  _ I’m a better ruler than you Robert, and you father, and I’ll not be taken as easily as you were, done in by people you trusted,  _ she thinks to herself. Yet, she feels an unease in her throat, similar to the one that she felt when Maggy the Frog gave her the prophecy. That and Jaime is missing, so she has no reprieve, it’s no matter,  _ I’ll rule them all until there is no one to defy me, she resolves _ . There is no one she can trust, and yet the crown on her head reassures her for but a moment, that is until it slips off of her head and clangs to the ground when her Hand knocks upon the door and she lets him in. 

Qyburn stands around the corner, concealed by some shadows before he steps into the light to give reports, making her hope she can trust that man. He hasn’t betrayed her so far, but she hopes that it doesn’t come to that. “Any word from the Ironborn?” She asks her Hand. “They were met by the Dornish and other Ironborn on the sea, and Euron’s forces fell upon them. Arianne Martell was captured, and I do not know the fate of others. They were either killed or captured, Your Grace.” Qyburn says emotionlessly. “They will continue on to White Harbor with their assault on the North, as they did not have much trouble with Dornish emissary, Your Grace.”

She glances over to Ser Gregor, and he stands ready for battle at a moment’s notice, looking only at her with his dead eyed stare that would worry anyone else. 

“What’s taking so long for Randyll Tarly to reach the North, Qyburn?” Cersei asks impatiently. Qyburn has a concerned look on his face before he replies. “Your Grace the thick snows of the northern region are the cause of the slow down. We have had many deserters from the frostbyte and snowy terrain, and the Neck hasn’t been marched upon in many, many years. The men have been slowed much by the muddy terrain and it’s stuck to their armor, without much luck of removal.” She swills the wine in her glass, thinking of taking Sansa’s head for murdering her son. “Fine, but the plan must go according to plan. Is everything else in order?” She asks her Hand. 

“Yes, Your Grace, the Northerners will think that they have been set upon by the Dragon Queen's army. They will think Randyll Tarly is still loyal to the Targaryens, and that he chose to side with them, looking to gain her favor by capturing the North.” Qyburn says. A small works its way on her lips as she plots to turn the two invading forces on each other, clearing the way for her to take them both, the way that her father would have done when he was outnumbered. They all underestimated her, to their doom, and now she will be the last one standing, she resolves.“There is more, I’m afraid, Your Grace.” Qyburn says. “Out with it then,” she replies.“Spies were here, the ones that brought Ellaria’s head to you. I suspect they have been informing on you for quite some time. Dorne may know more than we would like them to about our operations and troops.” 

“Find them! And kill them! Do not let them escape!” She screams, stirring the mountain to turn his head towards his queen. “They have fled the capital and I suspect that they will be meeting the Dornish on the sea, If all goes well then Euron will sink them before they can spread their information or become a danger to us.”“Good, inform me the moment you hear of any progress, Qyburn, I aim to reign this continent and restore order to these pretenders that would come for me. I shall have to show them the power of the Lannisters, and why my father was so feared and respected. They think me weak, but that will be their folly. You’ve been a good Hand, Qyburn, and you’ve given me no cause to question your loyalty. Let’s keep it that way shall we?” 

“Very good, Your Grace.” Her Hand says and leaves her with her goblet of wine, that tastes as sweet as the victory she wants upon her tongue.  _ With any luck her enemies will all kill each other, how glorious that would be! _

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Asha Greyjoy sits at the table in the Captain’s Quarters on her little battleship, Black Wind, drinking ale and staring at the Dornishmen’s muscles as if she’s ready to form her own alliances. On their way to Dorne to ferry the armies, and they still have a while to travel on the silent night on the sea. 

Her, Theon, and the other Ironborn feel right at home, but she can tell that the Dornish feel apprehensive about being on the sea. Hopefully, they’ll get adjusted to the waves and the uneven pattern of the water. It’s second nature to an Ironborn.

A Dornishman comes over to converse with her, and snatches her mug of ale. The dark-haired beauty sips on the strongly flavored ale, and just eyes her with a look of defiance. 

_ I like this one _ , she thinks to herself. Theon just looks at the two of them uncomfortably. He looks down at his feet, and then rocks back and forth, unable to decide whether to stay or go. She signals to one of the men to attempt his own invasion at sea.

“Go elsewhere, little brother.” She says as Theon grabs the railings to pull himself up the stairs, the Dornish soldier gets closer to her, and starts invading her personal space. Not that she minds, “Foreign invader,” She says to the Dornishwoman. The soldier, a man of Yronwood, smirks, but then the ship hits turbulence and Theon and Arianne fall to the ground. All three of the Sand Snakes present come running down the stairs with terrified expressions. Now everyone present is looking to her for guidance. Arianne is looking most to Tyene, of a similar age, and likely they are friends, but it’s time for battle now, so she makes up her own formation.

She looks at the Sand Snakes, pointing to Tyene first. “Protect your princess.” She says to the youngest one of the Dornish beauties. “You three, with me.” She says next, pointing to Theon, Obara, and Nymeria. They can hear ruckus above, on the deck of Black Wind, her favorite ship, the one that hasn’t led her astray before now, at times she wonders if this will be her husband or her only baby, as it has her heart the same as a family would. 

Now the fighters go out into the night sky, while screaming and wailing overtake the atmosphere. The battle is on. Flaming arrows fly towards the ship, catching the wood on the deck aflame. Some parts of the mast and hull have been hit by flaming arrows as well. Now the largest ship, the Silence, gets closer and closer until it crashes into the ship, piercing the ship and connecting the two so that Euron’s mutes can come aboard. 

The Ironborn and the Dornish engage the invading fighters. Axes, swords and spears clang, highlighting an intense battle over the water, but the Ironborn on Euron’s side start to gain ground, Asha orders for them to fall back. They follow orders and slightly retreat, forming a line of fighters, while some of the men get cut down by the invading Ironborn. 

“ARCHERS!” She yells frantically, and arrow volleys start to fly, slowing the progress of Euron’s men. 

The Dornish really should have been more prepared for a naval battle, and she can see the colorfully clad Dornish fighters starting to lose their wit on the violent sea. Bad tidings during a battle.

“Time to show these fuckers why people fear the Ironborn!” She yells again and unsheathes her weapon, an axe, that she buries in one of the rushing mutes faces. 

The Dornish reserves start to fight now, running out of the lower levels of the ship, to defend their liege lord, fighting back and starting to push back on the wave of men that are gaining more and more ground on the deck of Black Wind.

A man jumps on her and prepares to spear her through the head, but Theon saves her, helping her up, and finally earning his way back into her good graces. That mewling look on his face still bothered her, but the fact that he just saved her life will have to do for now. The dread creeps up her neck, as Euron’s mast bears down on the ship. A claw-like mast crashes down right onto the captain's quarters, and the weight of the Silence cracks the wood of the crow’s nest, sending some of her men falling down onto the deck, the sea, and other places she can’t readily see. 

Euron comes in, swinging on a rope, landing on her ship, and is followed by a fresh wave of tongue-less Ironborn, heading straight towards the captain’s quarters for her valuable guests. 

Damn it all. 

The two Sand Snakes that are accompanying her, proceed to block the progressing Ironborn, killing a few of them with a spiked whip through the throat, and a spear through the eye of another. They stand side by side, Nymeria and Obara Sand, defending Arianne, in the name of Dorne, and their father Oberyn Martell. Together the two beauties methodically slaughter several men each, flexibly wielding the spiked whip and spear, in an entrancing fashion that makes her lick her bloody lips. One of Euron men, starts to fight back against them, matching their speed, and fighting them both as Nymeria disarms the man when her whip hits his hand, sending his axe tumbling to the ground. The Ironborn mute backs up in retreat, but Euron barrels forward, slicing the coward in two with a wild axe strike, and Euron charges the two Sand Snakes with a manic look in his eyes and blood all over his axe. 

The two Sand Snakes battle Euron in tandem, fighting with smooth strikes, much like a dance, with Nymeria and Obara being quick and cat-like with their strikes, but not quite matching Euron’s ferocity and intensity, and Euron swings wildly, madly swinging and trying to decapitate the Dornish Sand Snakes, and they dodge for a time, but an wayward arrow makes its way into Obara’s shoulder, before the Greyjoy takes advantage of the moment of weakness and uses his axe break her spear, before the axe continues through and cuts her on the arm, making a deep gash, while Nymeria gasps and winces with worry for her sister. While Obara is ducking and dodging, Euron now rolls, picking up the tip of the broken spear and tries to run Obara through with her own weapon. Nymeria catches his arm with the whip and pulls back on his arm, stopping him from making his thrust, causing a tug of war, and the bloody whip starts dripping Euron’s blood down the long, curly, leather weapon. 

If the pain of the whip affects Euron, it doesn’t show on his face. In fact, he looks happy, and slips some potion in his mouth with his free hand, that makes his lips look blue, and suddenly he starts looking more maniacal than he had previously. The King of the Iron Islands now grabs the spear with two hands, and easily overpowers Obara, running her through with the spear in his hand and causing Nymeria to scream while her sister’s body goes limp. Now Euron uses his strength to roll the whip onto his arm and pulls the remaining Sand Snake closer, before she dodges his axe, with a roll. Euron’s speed slightly improved as well, and he trips Nymeria with a leg sweep, sending her to the ground on her back and kicks her, knocking her out. The blue-lipped maniac picks up Nymeria by her head, and swings his axe decisively, removing Nymeria’s head, and holding the bleeding head by the dark and long strands of hair. Now he kicks the bleeding body overboard, and starts kissing the decapitated head of the Sand Snake, creeping out almost the entire ship with his ridiculous antics, save for his own men. While watching the fight and beating back the attacker coming for her Asha realizes that she is one of the few Ironborn of her side still standing, while the crew of mutes start slaughtering everyone around.

Now the army of mutes has nearly taken over Black Wind, and she kills as many as she can, as did the Sand Snakes, but there are just too many of them. They overwhelm them, killing nearly all her men, and it takes all she has just to stay alive.

The men of the Silence part now, after converging on Asha, and Euron comes forth, laughing like a madman. “You are the first person in a long time to give my men this much trouble. Come and try to take your king.” Her uncle says, as the men try to grab her. Euron stops them, however, and hands her a weapon. He stares down Theon for a moment and then punches him, before throwing him overboard, but Theon is hanging off the edge of Black Wind by his hands, a fact that only Asha notices. “Let’s see if you can truly earn your name, beloved niece. I won’t kill all of the Greyjoys after all.” Euron says, causing her attention to go back to her uncle.

She picks up the weapon and looks at Euron determinedly. “Let’s see what you got.” Her Uncle says excitedly. They clash, starting as she goes on the offensive trying to break down Euron’s defenses. He parries each blow, but doesn’t return the strikes. “I’m impressed,” he says. 

Out of the corner of her eyes, she can see Arianne and Ellaria’s daughter Tyene being brought to the deck for Euron. And she knows this is a lost cause, meanwhile, Euron takes advantage of her diverted attention and rushes her now quickly, fighting like the mad man he is, with quick, unpredictable strikes, threatening to take her head if she misses just one parry or dodge. She starts getting tired finally from all the fighting and her arms feel weak, but she still manages to punch Euron a couple of times, drawing blood, and he gets in a few on her as well. Both bloodied and battered, they stare at each other and Euron is still smiling. Determined to wipe the smile from her face, she kicks him in the chest, but as he’s falling back, he grabs her leg, twisting her around and landing on top of her, too close to hit him with her weapon. 

The maniac now holds her arms down on the burning deck, rendering her unable to move, and he’s laughing again, while she feels helpless, and angry, squirming and wiggling to no avail, he puts his face closer to hers and kisses her, as she bites him as hard as she can muster, but this does nothing but make him laugh even harder. Now he headbutts her, and knocks her out, and she hears the Dornish women shriek at the same time. She blacks out on the ruined deck of the Black Wind, and she knows the battle is over as she loses consciousness. 

Euron decides that they must not have been much of a threat, as he orders the men to keep sailing towards White Harbor, to do Cersei’s bidding and engage with the Northmen. “Krakens don’t fear the Wolves!” Euron touts, but the mutes only raise their hands, clacking their weapons together to sound their battlecry.

  
  


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The grand city of White Harbor, is eerily quiet as snowflakes begin falling around them. The northmen that surround Jon on the newly made ship, hold tight on their weapons as they await Euron’s fleet. Jon scans the horizon knowing that the quietness of the sea means that Euron is either not coming or that he has split his armada in half. “What could cause Euron to not attack us directly?” Jon asks Davos, who stood near him. “Perhaps he is attacking Queen Daenerys’.” Davos speculates looking into Jon’s grey eyes. The waves of the sea crash and splash on the horizon, with no stray winds, nor a fish or rowboat. All is quiet, as the Northmen wait for Euron to come and attack them, but it’s strangely quiet. Not a ship on the horizon, nor a sound, save for the crashing waves flowing towards the snowy grounds as the splashes of water quickly freeze on the land of the Northern harbor.

Not wanting to wait and be set upon by Ironborn, Jon decides to take action. 

“We are going to strike first, I want to do battle on my own terms, not waiting for Euron and the damned Ironborn to set upon my people.” Jon announces. Arya, Rhaegar and Lyanna look at him confused. 

“Why do you not wait for Euron to show up? We are prepared to do battle on the ground. We don’t know the seas like the Kraken does.” Arya asks, but his parents don’t question him outright. Perhaps they are trying to gain his good graces. 

“If the Ironborn land at White Harbor, they will do harm to my people. As their King, it is on me to protect them, and I shall do just that. We attack them first and we have a good chance of taking them before they reach the harbor.” Jon says. Arya nods with a wolfish grin. No one questions him, and he goes to board his ship, the White Scale, on the search for Euron and his mutes. Before he can board the ship, however, the horns start to blow, before the winds pick up speed, turning foul and the smell of burning wood and flesh blows towards White Harbor.

“Here they come, we don’t have time to mount a sea defense now, so we make our stand here and now.” Jon says.

Jon places his hands on the reigns of his horse, not so familiar with the sea and the crashing waves, but ready to defend his people against any that would harm them. Looking over to the moonlit sea on the coast of White Harbor, it looks calm and not at all tempestuous. The chill in the air makes the scenery quiet and yet familiar, yet it is nearly time to do battle. A small hand comes to rest on his, leaving him to wonder why his first instinct is to jerk his hand away. He looks to his left and it’s his mother. A smile tugs at his lips. 

“Thank you for bringing us with you. We’ll protect you with our lives, Your Grace.” She says with a sly smile. Another hand works its way onto his right hand. He looks and it’s Rhaegar Targaryen. “Do you ever wake up in the morning, looking at your set of hands, and perhaps wonder who they belong to?” Rhaegar asks. Lyanna looks stern, but he nods and understanding flashes upon his father’s face. 

“We aim to help you find this. In fact, we are searching ourselves. Will you allow us to join you as we try to find ourselves?” Rhaegar asks. “Aye, you are certainly not like most men. I was wrong about you, but I think we can come to know each other. I’m sorry for my earlier anger, I didn’t know how to handle what I had just learned. So often is the case that men let their swords do their talking, I wish to learn what kind of people you are, both of you.” Jon says to his parents. 

“To be fair, we both let our swords do the talking sometimes.” Lyanna says, with a slight chuckle. 

They laugh together, as the dark sea crashes and jumps, lit by the yellow glow of dim moonlight.

The three of them go to the Merman’s Court, all intending to be a family, not holding anything back. They talk for a while, and the scouts turn up nothing for the location of the Iron Fleet. It occurred to the three of them to get to know each other before the battle rages and they all get separated or worse.

After not being able to see the Silence, so named by Euron Greyjoy, and the rest of the Iron Fleet, Jon’s frustration takes its toll on him and he examines the map of the harbor, looking for anything that would be of help against an invading force. They didn’t attack head on, instead letting the foul smell of death blow their way in anticipation for the battle.

Visions begin to take hold of him, it almost appears to bring the map to life..

Waves of the sea, crashing violently, in the night sky, that’s almost all that can be seen. Several ships now appear faintly and distantly off the coast of Dragonstone, apparently riding around the island to avoid the Targaryen fleet it seems. Kraken sails, seemingly just having done battle, as evident with the ripped sails, and the body of a Dornish female, tied to the mast as if in presentation to their Drowned God, and also faintly, the body of Theon Greyjoy, hanging on the side of the ship wearily before climbing up to safety, before tiredly laying back down and panting heavily. 

Theon gets tied up, and taken to the King of the Iron Islands, then Euron spits on him, before throwing Nymeria’s head at him. Theon catches the rolling, airborn head, bleeding on to his wrists, and he starts mewling when he sees the head of his ally. 

Jon jolts up, from being shaken by Arya, and he looks at her with trepidation. “Jon, you were talking to yourself while you were looking at that map, you said something about Krakens and Theon, Dornish and captives, what is going on, did you find them?” His little sister asks, with worry in her little grey eyes. 

It almost makes his heart ache. 

“Dragon dreams…” Rhaegar says, looking out the window of the chambers, the cabin is dimly lit, but the silver of his hair is glistening against the light of the lanterns set about the harbor. “They are not to be taken lightly, they bear ill visions most times, and other times they will anchor you, holding you against the darkness coming to devour you, I had them often…” Rhaegar says, and Lyanna comes up to him and rubs his shoulders lovingly. 

Still a bit of a strange sight to see, especially since it feels like the two halves of his existence, the wolf and the previously unknown part, the dragon within him, are essentially standing right in front of him, in the form of his parents, and revealing to him the truth of his identity. 

“I saw...Theon...getting captured, along with the Dornish and they are riding around the veil of night to hide, but somehow I saw them. The ships all had Kraken sails, and there were small fires, and burning ships, blood and weapons strewn about.” Jon said and paused before continuing further, “Get ready for battle…” Jon ordered.

The four of them proceeded to ready their weapons, and he couldn’t say that he liked the looks of intensity and bloodthirstiness in his mother and sister’s eyes. 

They are just too much alike.

Davos comes in, eyeing the scene with intrigue, seeing everyone with their weapons and armor at the ready.

“I was coming here to tell you that the Greyjoys are near, Kraken sails, battle tested ships, we are ready to engage if necessary, but we do not know if they are friend or foe...I suppose you lot already know this?” Davos asks, adjusting his armor in haste when he notices the four of them doing the same. 

“Foe.” Jon replied. “Theon is among them.” Jon says and lets the implications linger.

Slowly but surely, the look of anger and bloodlust appears in Jon’s grey eyes, the same as his mother and sister. 

It’s time for battle. 

They all leave the chambers and head straight for the harbor, hands on the pommels of their weapons, ready for battle.

Ser Davos is on the coast waiting for them, steering sailors to intercept the fleet and looking for orders. 

“We are going to ram them, and ambush them, Ser Davos, head straight for the head ship. Go and head for them now, before they reach the harbor.” Jon ordered. 

Ser Davos looks on nervously, then nods. Davos takes the wheel and turns the wheel quickly, heading straight for the fleet per his orders. “Turn southeast, then go north when you see the Three Sisters, and then west quickly for us to catch the main ship. You will catch them unawares between there and the Fingers. Don’t attempt to take the main ship, but slow the others down, do not engage the Silence.” Jon remarks, with Davos raising his brow in curiosity.

“I would ask you how you know this, but I’ve long since learned not to ask too many questions,” Davos said with a grin.

The winds are kind, and the sails are flowing on the open sea, before the Three Sisters catch Davos’ eye, while they head straight for the small ships accompanying the Silence. 

Doing just what they planned, the Wolf Scale shoots flaming arrows into a few ships of the Iron fleet, jostling the men on board. The ships start to catch flame and before the crews know, their ships begin to sink one by one, slowing the Iron fleet down just a little, catching them unaware and sending them plunging to their doom in the icy cold sea of the coast of White Harbor.

The largest ship of the Iron Fleet, the Silence lands a terrible anchor, a spiked kraken on the land of the harbor and there’s another anchor that gets launched from the great ship. Both anchors cause heavy damage when they land, ripping apart the guard towers and sending Northmen flying to their deaths. Next a cannon fires, followed by a volley of arrows, both with and without flame, bringing about the stench of burning and death. Screams of terror, along with whimpering and crying, flesh tearing and burning permeates the area, making Jon wonder what kind of King he’ll be.

A hand on his shoulder stirs him into action, and he goes to mount the Silence and end the Greyjoy onslaught. A wave of mute Ironborn comes rushing down the ropes and trying to do battle.

Jon has Longclaw at the ready, with his family beside him and they begin their attack, as the ships continue to attack White Harbor with each of the men on board the ship clanging their weapons in defiance, making their resolve all the more sturdy. Longclaw is now slicing through Iron armor like it’s nothing, quickly accumulating blood on the blade in the process. Arya and Lyanna are running through soldiers as well as Jon can see, as is Rhaegar, followed by the Northmen, Manderley’s mostly, since they know naval fighting better, but some Cerwyns, Karstarks, Umbers, Hornwoods, and Mormonts are present too, backing up their King. 

A fierce battle ensues, and the Northerners are steadily making strides towards a full capture of the Iron Fleet, slicing through the Ironborn, sending some of them to a watery death, likely the death that they would choose over others. 

The mute soldiers now start to form up into a line, and try to repel the charge of the Northerners. Ironborn are strong on the sea, axes and swords clanging, spears flying, arrow volleys swishing through the air, Jon must admit that it’s exciting. A soldier runs at him from behind, trying to impale him with a spear, as he gets closer to the King in the North with the blade, his ever faithful companion Ghost chews the man’s face, making his way down to his throat and ripping it out, leaving the man gushing blood onto the deck of the Silence. 

Jon looks in the distance and sees Rhaegar defending Lyanna, craftily swinging his sword in defense, and Lyanna is poking through the Ironborn’s defenses with her short sword, she is quick and decisive. He can’t seem to find Arya and his heart starts racing, worried about his favorite sister, but from what he had seen her do, he doesn’t have much to be worried about. 

Jon runs down, killing every Ironborn in his path, picturing every one of them as Theon, attacking them and slicing off limbs, heads, and opening throats. He’s likely only going to do worse when he finally finds the real target of his anger. He gets rushed by three men, trying to cut him open like a pig, and the axe hits his armor, getting stuck in, and he pulls it out trying to launch a counter-offensive, but to no avail as the three men are quicker than he thought. As they try to assault him simultaneously, a dagger flies through the air, and into the eye of one of the attackers, sending him writhing to the ground, before bleeding out and dying. Arya comes jumping and snatches the dagger from the mute’s eye and quickly kills the other two Ironborn, Lyanna comes down with them and the three Starks are nearly at the captains quarters. 

Jon gets ready to break down the door, locked tight to prevent their entry, but Arya puts her hand on his, grabbing Jon’s trembling hand and preventing him from alerting the entrants to their presence, Jon looks back and finds Lyanna and Rhaegar, cutting down Ironborn like blades of grass. After being satisfied with what she sees, Lyanna nods to Arya. The young Stark girl silently and quickly picks the lock, making Rhaegar and Lyanna glad that they are not the small assassin’s foe, for she could kill them at any waking moment. Inside the chambers there are ten well rested men, aside from Euron, and Jon notices Theon before anyone else, sending his blood to the boiling point. 

Euron looks on at them curiously, while also looking over the Dornish women in the chamber a young girl, and an older woman, both dark-haired, tan skinned, and beautiful, save for the ripped clothing, and blood smears on their bodies. 

Jon impatiently attacks Euron’s men, but has more trouble with the men in the captain’s quarters, noting that they must be better trained.    
  


The men of the Silence come barreling towards Rhaegar, disregarding the two women with them, much to their mistake, as they hear Ghost howling at the top of the deck, and the sound slightly calms their nerves. The direwolf is not the Stark sigil for no reason. The few men that remain are starting to surround Rhaegar, choosing to disregard the women present, and attack the other man of the group. 

Big mistake. 

Arya starts craftily killing the elite ironborn, slicing open their throats without making a single sound, and Lyanna is beating them back like an infantryman. Euron looks to be getting excited, while he looks over to his three captive women, tied up, and scantily clad as if he was going to do all sorts of untowards thing to them, probably the true source of the Stark women’s anger. 

“You never see the women coming, looks like I'll have to kill some more beauties.” Euron says, with a dangerous gleam in his eyes, smiling with his pale blue lips. 

There are three men left and each fighter present is having a time with them. “My men don’t die so easily, these three were picked especially by me, you won’t take their heads without a rough fight.” Euron informs them.

He’s right, because each one of them is having the roughest of times with their respective Ironborn. Rhaegar’s headbutt didn't deter the roughneck in front of him in the slightest. Arya is weaving and dodging the strikes of the other man. Lyanna looks like she is getting all she can handle in the form of quick, decisive strikes from the foe that she chose to battle. Euron is watching intently.

The door bursts open and Umber men, accompanied by Manderly soldiers come forth with Cerwyn men beside them, all of their faces blood-stained and sweaty. Their entry breaks the concentration of those present. “The King in the North!” They shout.

Lyanna smiles brightly, at the sight of her handsome warriors, her husband and son. The Ironborn take advantage the moment and Lyanna’s foe kicks her in her armored chest, sending her to the floor of the cabin, but before the Ironborn can follow up his attack, Ghost is at his throat, tearing his neck apart and sending him twitching to the ground. Arya’s enemy staggers, and starts to slow a bit, then they notice an arrow sticking in the man’s leg. A poisoned arrowhead, that she apparently stuck in his leg without anyone noticing. 

After a while of swinging wildly, the man that was fighting Arya falls down to the ground, paralyzed from the poison. “That must have been some poison you used, we built up an immunity over these last few years on the sea, but this guy got poisoned by a little girl!” Euron says laughing still, as he takes a spear and sends it through the paralyzed Ironborn’s head, creating a thick pool of blood in the cabin. 

Rhaegar begins fighting the lone left Ironborn besides Euron, parrying, dodging, ducking, and looking for an opening. The rest of them are watching intently. Rhaegar is still fighting with honor, as he looks for any way to break down the soldiers defense. 

Neither of them give way. 

“Come on Rhaegar, you can do this.” Jon says, still watching his father defend and return the savage blows. The Ironborn fighter is still giving Rhaegar all he can ask for and oddly hasn’t slowed in the slightest. 

Lyanna and Arya go to cut the rope ties off of Tyene and Yara, and finally they get to Arianne, handing them all bloody weapons and getting nods of thanks in return. Theon is still tied up, he’s still closer to where Euron and the other Ironborn soldier is. A dark-haired female, dornish by the build of her, comes rushing and has a vengeful stare towards Euron Croweye. “Obara!” Tyene says, happy to see her sister. She hurriedly tries to kill Euron, but the man is crafty and dodges.

When Rhaegar and the lone Ironborn soldier left get closer to Euron, the King of the Iron Islands tries to trip Rhaegar and he falls to the floor, but still dodges at the last second when the Ironborn soldier tries to bury his axe in Rhaegars’s neck. The axe is stuck in the wood of the cabin’s floor, and Jon slices the last soldier with Longclaw, cutting him cleanly in two, with the sharp Valyrian Steel blade having no problems with the meager armor of the last soldier. 

Euron is looking up happy, “You fight like a King. I would be happy to kill another King.” Euron says as Jon and Euron size each other up.

Jon gives no reply.

“Find a way off the ship,” Jon orders Arya, and the others fall back, but not too far away. The maniacal Ironborn picks up another axe from his fallen soldier, that was stuck deep in the wood and now prepares to engage. 

Jon has Longclaw in hand, ready to defend, still having blood on his face and sword. 

Euron engages with his wild strikes, swinging like a mad man, but trying to break Jon down, where he doesn’t dodge, Jon blocks with his Valyrian Steel blade. Jon is trying to break down the Iron Islander, going on the offensive, and they exchange brutal, heavy strikes, trying to cause heavy damage to each other. 

Both Kings start breathing heavily, still waiting for an opening, and finding none. If Euron were not so vile, Jon would have some respect for him. Jon gets an idea, after watching the habits of the Greyjoy King. He slices for the right side of Euron’s body, catching his enemy’s left-handed axe. Sliding the blade down the axe, he splits the wood from the metal blade with a sly strike, limiting the Greyjoy to one weapon that Euron now holds with both hands. 

Both of the fighters are getting impatient now. 

Jon keeps trying more strikes, left swing, right, overhead, lower body, thrust and feint, and Euron defeats them all. 

Trying more ideas out, and remembering the fight with Karl Tanner, Jon decides to make a play towards Euron’s pride.

“You know Theon always told me that you Iron Islanders are great fighters on the sea, now you look like a bunch of squid, fighting over one fake Drowned god.” He tries to goad the man, with another feint opening for an overhead strike. 

Euron takes, jumping at him with a heavy, two-handed strike right into his trap. Jon sidesteps and takes the opportunity to hit his foe with a shoulder, knocking false Kraken down to the ground.

Jon stabs Longclaw at Euron’s throat, but Euron’s axe is blocking the progress so they are in a battle of strength. Euron’s potion has him fending well against the strength of the blade coming from him, matching the strength he needs to stay alive. They continue on with the pushing and pulling of the blade, and Jon kicks Euron in the torso a few times for good measure. Still struggling against each other in a battle of strength, Euron suddenly starts laughing again, “you are strong, better have this strength when defending your people and your pride.”

Then Euron spits up some blue liquid in Jon’s face and and Longclaw slips when he gets distracted, heading up towards Euron’s face, and the Iron Islander get his eye pierced by Longclaw, making the blood drip on his face, and yet he is still laughing, although he’s holding his eye socket now and kicks Jon back while shooting up quickly. 

Several thuds now land squarely outside the captain’s quarters as Jon prepares to kill Euron. The tide gets closer, and a false wall opens up allowing Euron to escape. In the surprise escape, they didn’t notice that Arianne was missing. The Sand Snakes start frantically looking for her, and Tyene yells when she knows what the rest of them now know. 

When they start trying to follow the King of the Iron Islands, the Door holds sturdy, thick iron doors with no visible knobs or locks, and they know all was lost, and Arianne is lost to them.

Finally they hear a big thud against the door and it creaks open slowly, blood dripping in thick puddles under the heavy iron. Once the door opens completely it reveals Euron with a spear through his heart, and another through his good eye, and another through his balls. Obara and Arianne come huffing and puffing down the stairs, with bloodied hands and scars. 

Arianne was almost still kidnapped by Euron Greyjoy, and if it weren’t for the Sand Snakes, Euron would have made off with the Dornish Princess. 

The other thing that they didn’t notice is Arya, beating the seven hells out of Theon Greyjoy, bloodying his face. Asha is trying to get Arya off of him, but to no avail. Finally Arya picks up the nearest weapon, a spear and stabs it towards Theon’s face, but Rhaegar tackles her before she kills her former friend. 

Jon snatches Arya up and takes her outside. The other ship is heading away from them quickly, away from White Harbor, and presumably towards Kings Landing. That isn’t the more pressing issue however, that belongs to the fact that the ship they are on is now burning, and they must abandon it. “Abandon ship!” Jon yells out, sending their companions running to the deck in order to vacate the burning ship. 

Davos comes sailing in yelling at the top of his lungs, “Come on, we have to get off of this damned thing before it sinks to the bottom of the ocean!” 

They all run towards the remaining parts of the fleet stationed at the harbor, as the heat catches their faces from the smoldering flames, while the boat starts sinking into the sea. 

They make their way to the head ship of the Northern fleet, climbing over to the wooden ladder to climb on. First is Arya and Lyanna, along with Tyene and Yara. Obara and Arianne make it laggedly along with the others, and the other Sand Snakes help them off the ship. With the men last, Rhaegar climbed on first. Leaving the two men that grew up in Winterfell, Jon and Theon. 

Jon proceeds to then snatch Theon by his breeches and collar, tossing him over to the port of White Harbor and knocking him out when he lands on his head, and then the King in the North jumps on the battered docks of White Harbor, and the lot of them watch while the Silence sinks to the bottom of the ocean. 

  
  


_________________________________________________________________

“There is a dragon near…” Rhaegar says to Jon. In the edge of the room, Ghost starts running in circles, and then to and fro with unease. His mother just shrugs, as Lyanna doesn’t seem to mind Rhaegar’s strange behaviors and intuitions. 

At last he feels a flame wash over him, in the dead of winter, and it feels for a moment as if he’s flying, with his guts turning inside out, or at least that’s how it seems. 

He grabs a chair after almost falling over, at the head table of the Merman’s Court, celebrating their victory over the Ironborn. The bards are singing and ale is flowing through the veins of the Northmen, as Theon Greyjoy is brought to court, but without chains. Once he sees Jon, Theon’s eyes go wide and he stares at his former friend. Greyjoy’s eyes are bruised from being beaten by Arya, and none of the men present feel sorry for him. Asha however, is on the edge of her seat, sitting near the weary Dornishwomen, and yet still concerned for her brother. 

“Jon…” Theon mutters out, then Lord Manderly knocks him on his head, sending Theon to his knees, and he doesn’t move or resist. Asha looks on at the situation concerned, but doesn’t move.

“You will refer to the King in the North by his proper title.” Lord Manderly says. 

Jon is seated at the table, trying to pay attention, but yet it feels like his head is burning, from his brow down to his chin, and it takes much effort for him not to wince. Finally he holds his head up high, and prepares to be a King.

“Your grace, I must apologize for my misdeeds.” Theon says.

“You helped Sansa, that is why I do not kill you where you stand. That doesn’t mean I trust you. You are also allied with Daenerys Targaryen, and it would not do to kill an ally of someone I do not know. Count your blessings, Greyjoy.” Jon says to a silent hall. Ghost looks on with his head tilted when he sees Theon start to shiver. 

Jon gets a gleam in his eye that Theon doesn’t like one bit. “I have a job for you Theon. Go to Winterfell, and there you will see Lord Eddard and Robb,” Jon says as Theon’s eyes widen a hundred fold at these words, “Rickon and Bran will be there, you will make your case to them.” 

Jon gazes at Theon and watches the formerly arrogant one buckle with fear. “If you return to us alive, then I shall know you were not meant to die.” The King in the North then gestures for Theon to be taken away. Now Jon sits at the table, tapping his hands on the wood, waiting and hoping for some way to escape and go elsewhere. The Isle of Faces calls to him, and he has no recourse to get up and leave his subjects. The frustrations of being a King.

“What’s wrong?” Lyanna asks him, with a hand on his shoulder. He shakes his head at her, indicating that it’s okay, and she doesn’t let up her uneasy stares. 

“I need to go to the Isle of Faces.” Jon says in a low tone. Lyanna just looks at her son, but Rhaegar’s brows raise in curiosity.

Lord Manderly comes in with a note, doubtless he has information. There’s a note from the scouts, and another from Lord Howland Reed. 

“Randyll Tarly is marching forth with the Lannister armies, he shall be here in about a fortnight.” Lord Manderly says. Jon reads the notes from the scouts and it confirms what Lord Manderly just told him. Jon doesn’t quite know whether to kill or capture Lord Tarly. Nevertheless, the battle is imminent. 

It’s a difficult thing to leave his men to do battle, so he decides to wait until the Lannister men are defeated. It feels as if his head is about to split open, however, and the King in the North knows he cannot hide this, as it’s difficult to think straight, a necessary quality in a King. Ghost creeps up on him, trying to reassure him, but failing. Finally the thought crosses his mind to read the letter from Howland Reed. 

**To my King,**

**Tarly forces near the Neck, we shall not engage, however, the crannogmen are on alert. The marsh and swamp areas are heavy with oily mud and cannot be removed without water, which there is not much of in this harshly thick winter blanket. When battle becomes necessary, the foe will hear the song of ice and fire, a melody that will instill even the bravest men with fear.**

**Lord Howland Reed, of Greywater Watch.**

Jon reads over the letter and inspiration strikes him. Ghost goes running from New Castle and Jon will not be long behind. He goes back to court and dismisses the Lords and Ladies, save for the Dornish and Greyjoys, Manderlys, Arya and his parents.

“Randyll Tarly’s forces shall reach the Neck soon.” Jon says, and everyone looks up at the impending battle implications. “Aye.” The lords say. The Dornish women look on at the meeting uninterested.

“There is more, They will walk upon the Neck, where they will be slowed dramatically by the marshes and the deep trenches set south of Moat Cailin. They shall have to split their forces to cross in the Winter, the southron lads know nothing of the ills of winter that await them. Randyll Tarly leads them. He chose to side with the Lannisters and to invade the North in the dead of winter. Fool man he is, but the cold will seep into their bones and we will have the trenches to cripple their horses. We’ll capture Lord Tarly, for his son was a great friend of mine, and if he does not cooperate, I shall take his head myself. We need every man we can get for the war ahead, so the goal is to force their surrender and convince him of the real threat. ” Jon says, as the men present hold mugs of ale up and clang them together, also banging their hands on the table. 

The dornish princess Arianne now stands up, big eyed and curious, wearing bright colors of orange and red, and strutting to the head table, silencing the men with her beautiful form. Jon feels a little hot under his collar and looks directly in the Dornish Princess’s eyes. She stares at him for just a moment, then Jon’s eyes wander down towards her form and she catches him, smirking and then decides to speak. 

“Your Grace, I must say thank you for helping us. You had no cause to help the Dornish or the Ironborn, and yet we are in your debt. We are allied with Daenerys Targaryen, but if there were anything you would ask of me in my power, I shall see it done.” Arianne says, licking her lips as if she has ideas. 

“Tell me about Daenerys Targaryen, I’d like to know what I’m dealing with.” Jon says. Arianne looks off to the corner of her eyes at the rest of the Dornish and Asha, they give curt nods and the Dornish Princess looks back to the King in the North.

“She is very much concerned about her reputation on this continent, so she hopes to gain the love of Westeros. A fine thing, but she has three dragons flying with her in the skies, beautiful, but terrible. Fear and love are not so easily woven together, but she wields them masterfully, like a wick and a candle, balancing, yet not overtaking each other. Perhaps, fire and blood would be a better description. A gentile soul she is, but not without strength. I quite admire her.” Arianne explains. 

_ Ice and Fire, dancing together to reshape a broken land, _ Jon thinks to himself. 

“She and I shall meet at the Isle of Faces, and I hope to form an alliance with her, just as you have done. My bannermen have doubts as to the merits of allying with the south, but we must if we are to survive. Neither of us can afford to be ignorant of the perils North of the Wall.” Jon says to Arianne, that gives him a puzzled look. She doesn’t respond immediately, and gives a curtsy.

“I do not know this peril that you speak of, but I do know that Cersei would see us all murdered before winter’s end. Do not forget that fact either.” The Dornish Princess says, returning to her table of honor.

She has a point, but Jon can’t escape the vision of those blue eyes that haunt his every waking moment.

Now he needs to convince Daenerys the same, and he finally makes up his mind. “I shall go and meet with Daenerys at the Isle of Faces, I must convince her that the threat is real, and it’s our only chance of survival against the White Walkers. I will go, and return to face Randyll Tarly in battle, he cannot march so quickly through the winter beaten land. I must go now, and quickly before it is too late. 

The Manderlys and officers quickly stand and disagree. “My King, you cannot trust this foreigner that you do not know. You could be killed by one of her dragons! She could see you as a threat.” Lord Manderly says.

“My Lords, we have one chance at beating the dead back, and it’s her and her armies. If I cannot convince her then we shall be wiped from the face of the planet. It is not the best plan, I’ll admit it, but it’s the only one we have. If any man has a better plan, speak now.” Jon says, walking through the men as a true King, firm and resolute.

No one speaks. 

“Ghost, to me.” Jon says, and his ever faithful companion comes trotting out from the table, and they walk out of the halls of New Castle, heading for the Isle of Faces. No one ever knows if they are making the right choice, but this feels like the best decision he has made in quite some time. 

__________________________________________________________________

Snow and Ice blanket the land as they approach the vast and tall structure of the Wall. The Brotherhood Without Banners are few, but they are still a strong force of fighters and soldiers. Lady Stoneheart conceals her face, riding behind Thoros and Beric, but beside the Hound that has complained the entire trip. 

“It’s too damned cold up here. I’ll die well before the dead get their hands on me.” Sandor Clegane touts. He had been grumpy ever since they spotted the abandoned home with the two dead bodies, the man and his little girl. Too much guilt was on his face when he laid eyes on them, but she doesn’t have the kind heart that she used to. They were just a place to stay, she feels nothing for them. Still it made her think of her children, all dead or missing, and it makes her jaw clench in anger.

From the Wall she can send men to inquire as to what happened, and find out why so many wolves were at Winterfell, as it makes no sense. 

Did Jon Snow find Sansa and Arya and capture them? The thought makes her already cold heart even colder at the prospect of seeing Jon Snow again. Does she order her men to kill him after she questions him, risking the chance of turning the whole North against the Brotherhood? 

It matters not, as she doesn’t care a wit for any of them. They all fear her, besides Beric and Thoros, and that’s the only reason they follow her orders. Needless, anyone that crosses her will die, and that will probably include Jon Snow. She reaches her hand over her small dagger, but she thinks she’ll be the one to do the deed when it comes down to handling the new King in the North. 

A wolf howls and she feels the nostalgic air of the North up to her neck, then she remembers the old face of Walder Frey butchering her son and the bitterness creeps up her bones. Nooses at the ready on her slowly trotting horse, she pictures the faces of all the schemers behind Robb’s death hanging from the Wall, including Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy, Jaime Lannister, and Cersei Lannister. She hates them all, and they all must die before long.

The trotting of horses wakes her from her stupor. “My Lady!” Beric shouts, but then they are set upon by riders with spears, encircling them, and she notices that they are not wearing black, but beaten and torn rags like Osha when she first came to them. 

Wildlings?

She doesn’t surrender, and she spurs her horse forward, towards the gates of Eastwatch. One of the Wildlings steps in front of her, a wild Auburn haired man, blued-eyed and curious. 

“What do you want with us?” The man says. She tries to decide whether to order the men to fight back or not, but she places her hand on her throat and croaks out, “Through. Wall.” 

The Wildlings look at each other and then tout back, “Why the hell would you want to go through the Wall. Do you even know what’s out there?” The wild man says. 

“Must.” She croaks, her voice raspy and unafraid. One of the Wildlings knocks a fleeing man from his horse and points the spear at his throat. Looks like they are not making through without a fight. All the better, she didn’t want anyone to know she was here anyway.

Beric trots up to the auburn haired wildling and starts speaking. “Our Lord of Light told us to go beyond the Wall. For what purpose I do not know yet, but we must go.”

The Wildling grabs Beric by the collar and drags them off the horse. “You with the Red Woman that tried to burn Mance?” The wildling asks while his men yell, “Tormund, Tormund!” 

Thoros comes up now, “We are not with Melisandre, but we follow the same Lord of Light. Her way of doing things is...troublesome…” Tormund grabs him with his other arm, knocking him from the horse as well. 

“You must be fools, all of you, to want to go beyond the Wall. Nothing there but death and more dead things. It’s colder than the eyes of that one there.” Tormund says, pointing to Lady Stoneheart. 

Peculiar that she doesn’t see fear in Tormund’s eyes when he looks at her, but she did see a semblance of fear when he talked about going beyond the Wall. She takes advantage of the moment and croaks orders to her men, “Strike,” is all she musters, and the men in reserve fire arrows at the wildlings. Ten arrows fly towards the men on horseback, and they strike true, hitting a few of the Wildings and sticking in their backs. She readies another order but the arrows fall off of their targets and the others are pulled out of their bodies, when the wildings reveal armor of steel, chainmail, and boiled leather under their tattered rags. 

Now they all get knocked on their horses.

“King Crow had the truth of it, with the armor under our clothes, they took us too lightly,” Tormund says, and he whistles in the background, with a return whistle coming from the trees. The rest of the Brotherhood men come to them now with armed wildlings behind them, armed with sword and spear, held to their throats. 

The Wildlings start putting chains on all of them now. One by one, they are chained up and taken to the cells of Eastwatch. Somehow these wildlings knew that she was the leader, and she’s taken last to the ice cells, led by Tormund himself. 

“What will we do with them, Tormund?” One of the Wildlings asks.

“They may be North men, I don’t know what those fancy banners mean. We’ll let Jon Snow decide their fate, send a raven to Winterfell.” Tormund says. 

The anger returns to her now, and she can feel the cold seeping in her bones, coupled with the anger. She puts her hand over her throat to try and find out more about Jon Snow. He knows these Wildlings, and they follow his orders. Not only that, but they said that he would decide their fate. Never had she thought that her life would be in the hands of Jon Snow, as her hand rests firmly over her throat, with the blood boiling in her head and she’s ready to kill every one of them for even mentioning that name. Each one of them is now chained and thrown into ice cells, stuck on the wall and her only chance of leaving is the boy that she hated so much, now the King in the North per Robb’s will. One of the worst nightmares Lady Stoneheart had ever had, back when she was Catelyn Stark, the woman that prayed over her children, only to see them all dead or captured. She curses the Wall, she curses the North, the Freys, the Lannisters, and even all of the Tully men that did not help when it was needed. Worse is the fact that these mean show no signs of fear on their faces, the first time she’s noticed men that don’t fear her. 

There were things that she wanted to say, and inquire about, but she found that she had no words. Just as the hand that rests on her throat, the unrecognizable feeling of fear grips her. Even through all the things she has seen, because if the boy decides to kill her, she would deserve it. She looks up at the top of the icy stone walls, unable to sleep. 

Two wolves howl back and forth, and it reminds her of the life that she once had. If only she could be that person again, but her heart is as cold as the Wall around her. Whoever she once was is dead.

The Wildlings bring them a rabbit stew and Thoros, Beric, and the Hound take it eagerly, but the Lady Stoneheart refuses. She finally puts her hand to her throat and squeaks a hoarse word out to Beric. “Ask.” Beric slurps the last of his soup and stands with his hands on the bars in the cell. “My Lady wants to know what became of Winterfell. We heard you say Jon Snow, what happened in the North.” 

Tormund rips apart a chicken leg with his teeth, letting the grease run down his face as he stares at Beric, deciding whether to answer him or not. “You came to the Wall and didn’t know what happened in the North, are you stupid?” 

“We heard bits and pieces of what happened, but we want to know the truth, my good man.” Beric says, glancing over to Catelyn. Tormund stands with a mug of ale and drinks deep, then he walks up to the cage.

“The Wildings fought the crows, and on and on our battles went. We got more desperate as time went, trying to escape the army of the dead. Jon Snow came North and tried to save my people.” Tormund looks in the corner of his eye, partly with fear. “The dead rained down on us, and that mad crow killed enough of the dead to save a lot of our people. Then he let us through the Wall, so we could live, and not be sacks of meat with blue eyes…” Tormund pauses, and takes another big drink of all. “The other part is his story to tell, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you…” “The fight had left him after the other crows betrayed him until his sister with red hair showed up to the Wall…” 

Now Lady Stoneheart stands up and gets closer to the bars. Her shawl still covers her face, so she doesn’t show her features to the Wildling, but he glances at her and continues, glancing at her occasionally. “Sansa…?” She croaks. “Aye, that’s her name. She showed up and it was like a fire went back in him. We marched down to Winterfell and battled the Bolton bastard, and I never saw man as angry as I did when Jon Snow saw Ramsay on the battlefield. The Southern Lords crowned him King and he ruled with his sister beside him.” 

“So you follow Jon Snow?” Thoros asks.

“We don’t kneel, but we decided not to kill him. It probably wouldn’t work that well anyway. The mad crow keeps coming back.” Tormund shrugs and walks away.

“We may have more in common than you think.” Beric says. 

__________________________________________________________________

  
As she flies towards the Isle of Faces it feels like destiny is calling her. It reminds her of her dream that she had just had a night ago, and the memories swirl in her mind like a summer breeze.

A swirling snow storm white and bright sends tumbling ice about, and also chilling with a biting cold wind blows harshly . Whistling branches are flowing as if they are speaking, accompanied by a howl and a rustle of leaves. Icy winds from a blizzard of harsh cold blows the last leaf from a tree. Walking through the terrible frosty plain, Daenerys’ feet crunch in the snow leaving prints behind the Mother of Dragons. Covering her face with her arm, the young Queen forces her feet forward, towards the wail of a child. The child crying at the top of it’s lung lurches at Daenerys’ heart and she makes herself go ever forward, towards the scream of the child, no doubt freezing. 

A flock of ravens fly forth and saturate the branches of the tree where the last leaf had blown from, the eyes of the ravens looking towards the babe. 

Walking forward more and more, the snow still swirling and the babe getting louder and louder, Daenerys’ heart pounds heavier and heavier as she gets closer. The ravens still eye the situation intently. Caws and screeches, as well as wings flapping fill the immediate area, giving the otherwise quiet scenery an ominous tone.

She runs now as the sound gets louder and louder ringing in her ears, and she’s determined to find that babe. It wrenches at her mind and heart to hear the babe wailing so. So far it feels like she can help the babe, so she takes every measure she can to reach the screaming little one as quickly as she can. She doesn’t feel the cold as much anymore, as the babes' cries get closer and closer, even though it feels like she’s traveled miles and miles. The skies get darker as clouds block out the sun, and now she notices the ravens watching her. At the base of a leafless tree, there is a basket with a babe. A tiny, pale, rosy cheeked babe is there crying, and a creature of solid ice, blue-eyed and terrible, takes the basket holding the child. At first she’s frozen out of fear, but she remembers that she is the blood of the dragon, and decides to will away her fear. Daenerys faces her temporary fear, but is still unsure of how to kill this ice monster.  _ Perhaps Drogon, but he’s not here at the moment, _ she thinks to herself. The blue-eyed creature turns and stares her down, but she doesn’t have time to react because there are steps behind her and she is ready to fight, whatever form that may take. Oddly she doesn’t feel cold anymore. The man of her dreams is approaching her, his aura and smell of pine and musk remind her of her other dreams, but she’s torn by the sounds of the crying babe and the approaching footsteps, trying to reconcile the two sounds that are happening simultaneously. 

The feeling of the man’s presence calms her down, and he looks like he knows this scenery all too well, his face still hidden by the shadows, but still a welcome presence. “White Walkers.” The man says, then he pauses and looks frozen still, and his trembling hand starts pointing, unable to speak. She follows the path of the man’s hand pointing and is shocked to see that the babe had wiggled out of the swaddling blanket and the more surprising thing is that the babe has silver hair and violet eyes. 

She runs towards the babe, trying to beat the White Walker, but it has already taken the babe into it’s dreadful arms. Daenerys still tries to rescue the babe, but the mysterious man grabs her hand. It slightly irritates her. “I do not need you to save me,” she says in a commanding tone. 

He doesn’t let her hand go. “If it kills you, you’ll come back as a blue eyed dead man.” He says coldly, and in an alarming manner. Now she doesn’t feel quite as confident in the words she had just mentioned. 

Now the man runs headfirst into battle, a bastard sword in his hand, with a pommel with the shape of a wolf, but this wolf is white and wears a crown. “Be prepared to catch the child when I kill it.” The man says to her, and she somehow trusts him. She nods her approval. 

He runs towards the White Walker, and slices it through with the sword he carries, and the babe is in the air, so she dives and catches the wailing silver haired babe. The White walker is shrieking and screaming, a terrible noise to behold. Then the ice starts to crack and fissure, and breaks apart with a great shatter, sending shards of ice towards her and the babe. This mysterious man stands in front of the ice and blocks her and the babe from the impact, guarding them both and even though she didn’t ask, he protected her. 

She’s not sure how to feel about that. “Thank you,” she says. He walks away from them and leaves her to the babe, fading into the woods but she can still see him. She turned her attention back to the babe and it had turned to a red leaf. Daenerys drops the leaf surprised, and it glides and finally hits the ground, but the ground that it hit was a lake. Ripples form in the water where the leaf hit, and the man that she dreamed of stops and looks around. 

All the trees are now white. One with a face that seems to be all seeing is staring at her, and the man appears at her side. A flame spurts forth from the solid ground in front of the two of them and they both look at it. The man steps back, flexing his gloved hand and backing away from the fire. 

It’s then that Daenerys realizes what she must do, and grabs his hand. “I am the fire, walk with me through the flame.” She tells him. He gulps but says nothing, nor does he remove his hand from hers. 

Together they walk through the flame, arriving at the white tree with an expression that looks like it has something to say, albeit gaunt and pale features upon the face. 

“If death itself becomes a flood, then love and life is fire and blood.” The tree says, the eyes of the tree travelling back and forth between the two of them.

“As lonely as you both have been, you’ll have each other in the end.” The tree says once more.

A gigantic shadow appears over them, covering the forest and stirring up the winds accompanied by darkness. As she looks up she sees the dragons that she birthed, but there is another. A gigantic dragon, bigger than the others. It is then that she is transported to the skies, looking down and seeing the trees in spiral patterns, and she can still feel the presence of the mysterious man in the skies with her. 

“The dragons grow in separate places, together see the Isle of Faces.” She hears the winds of the sky whisper to her. 

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another chapter. Hope you enjoy.

Drogon’s growl shakes Daenerys from her trance-like state, as she looks at her surroundings in shock realizing she is still in mid flight. She tries to get her bearings while still processing the fact that she had had a dragon dream without being asleep. What did all these dreams or visions mean? And did it mean for the relationship going forward that she would have with Jon? She asked herself as she smoothed her left hand over the warm scales of Drogon’s neck soothing him both through touch and their shared bond. Together they could weather anything life throws their way, Daenerys thinks to herself as Drogon both chirps and growls his approval of her new thoughts. She leans her body closer to where Drogon’s back meets his neck, fully allowing the sensations of flying and being one with her sons exhilarated throughout her entire body. Be A Dragon! The voice of Olenna Tyrell roared through her very soul as she closed her eyes. Those three words held many different meanings for each person who uttered them, for Daenerys they meant being free. The only time she felt truly like herself and free was when she was with her sons and flying with them like this. Just for now alone with her boys, the sun on her face, the wind in her hair, and the clouds below her, she felt as if she was finally allowed to just be Daenerys. Wings of freedom shall guide her to her goal, if only there were just one. The Iron Throne, and now a possible family, the love of the people, and just maybe...no...she shant have those thoughts, as the dream of a child stings with the pain of former days. It still hurts that the child felt so alive in her arms, and it looked like her, but also so innocent and so pure. Such thoughts could overwhelm her if she let them, but it was not going to happen to the Mother of Dragons today.

Not the queen of the seven kingdoms, the breaker of chains, daughter of fire, bringer of death. All of those titles held more pressure than last on her quest to redeem her family name, one that her brother and father had tainted each in different ways. Daenerys, shakes her head not wanting to go down these dark thoughts, ones she knew her mother would not like to discuss. Drogon sensing the inner conflict within his mother, chirped in a soothing tone to reassure her that everything would in the end work out. The sounds 0f soldiers on the march alerted her to the reason why she was going to the Isle of Faces to begin with. Seeing the Unsullied and Dothraki forces, lined up and disciplined in a way that they have never done before, caused a swell of proudness in her heart. 

Ready to take a holdfast if the need arises. The Red Keep is the one target she wants, but she has waited long to take her birthright and her home back, she will not do it haphazardly. That’s what Cersei would want her to do, she thinks to herself. Lush green fields of vegetation and flowers, earthy soil and slowly dying grasslands are a nice change of pace from Dragonstone's beaches. Winter is starting to feel real now, as she flies around, escorting the armies safely to the Reach, to have a stronghold on the mainland. _Not long until the Targaryen banner flies in King's Landing_ , she thinks to herself. For her that would be everything, just as sweet as freeing all the people that were in their chains in Essos. Seems closer than ever, and it would be great to not have to go it alone. “The dragon has three heads…” She whispers, the words seemingly coming alive from her lips.

After the troops are settled in at the Reach, she decides to fly farther North and locate the Isle of Faces, in response to her vision from the previous day. Her dreams seem to come true, so she looks forward to meeting the King in the North, and without the burden of advisors. If all goes well she will have all she needs to take the Westeros from under the grip of the Lannisters. Drogon lets out a roar, and flaps his wings with a gust of cold wind, accompanied by dust as she takes off flying to the land that she hopes to rule one day.

The Land of Westeros feels unfamiliar, green grasses that turn yellow and brown, holdfasts that once sided against her family. Strange thing that winter represents death for the grass, where the Dothraki would not know what to do if the Great Grass Sea was dead and there was nothing to feed their horses. It has a tinge of bitterness when she thinks back on it, and yet it’s a great opportunity. Westeros likely hates Targaryens because of her father, and yet she has to deal with each land and their needs, as well as shutting out the Lannister influence. Daenerys must show them not to fear her, but also, not to take the dragon lightly. Drogon lets out a low growl as he senses her feelings, his hot scales warming her body in the cold biting winds in the sky. She covers her face trying to look down to the land and get a feel for it, remembering her map and the destination she chooses. As she gets closer, Drogon starts to lower altitude. 

The closer she gets to the Isle of Faces, the more real that dream feels to her. As she gets lower to the ground, the land starts to be blanketed by white and it is so strange to her, a child of fire, navigating through an ice-laden world, and this is likely nothing compared to the North. After some time of looking upon the land that she was once driven from, she sees the spiral pattern of the trees, and she knows she has made it. Time to see what this place is all about.

As Drogon gets closer and closer, the forest feels much more cold than she imagined, and she’s once again thankful that she is the blood of the dragon. She spots a clearing and instructs Drogon to land there, and her child responds, swooping down towards the open area and landing with a small thud, shaking the ground. 

It feels like there are eyes on her, as soon as she lands, but she expected such, as she goes towards the trees with faces carved in them, and they are seemingly follow her every step. She treks slowly through the forest, each face looking towards her, and the calming nature of the lake surrounded by forest takes over her mind. She feels at peace, even in the midst of an impending war. “Blood...of…dragon…” The trees seem to be whispering as she walks to the center of the spiral, aware of the thousands of eyes upon her. 

Sitting on a stone, seemingly meditating, is the man of her dreams, handsome and dark-haired. He is accompanied by an enormous white wolf, that’s barely visible, save for the ruby red eyes he bares. Anyone else would be afraid of such an animal, but not Daenerys Targaryen. She has three dragons for sons, she wouldn’t be deterred by a wolf. Though it reminds her of the vision she saw in the house of the Undying, the King with a wolf for a head. _That wolf wasn’t white though,_ she reasons.

The white wolf cocks his head sideways when looking at her when she approaches, then he just nonchalantly trots off, barely even making a sound. His bright eyes remind of the story of Rhaegar, and how he fell on the Trident with rubies displayed upon the riverbank. Ironic that this man would be Rhaegar’s child, she reasons.“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Daenerys Targaryen.” Jon Snow says, with a slight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. She sees pain written on his features, but she doesn’t know how to approach that subject. 

“Jon Snow, the King in the North. Although, I suppose it’s not the first time we met, is it?” She asks, trying to ignore the burning redness that is certainly appearing on her cheeks. Jon Snow nods his head in understanding, appearing flustered. “The dream feels all the more real now, doesn’t it?” He asks, in more of a statement than a question. Daenerys watches his right hand run through his short light brown beard nervously with a slight blush appearing on his cheeks. She turns her gaze away as memories of what magic that hand could work on her body leaving her both embarrassed and aroused at the same time. 

She nods in return, though she finds she can’t look him in the eyes quite yet. “How are you coming to terms with your parentage coming to light?” She asks, shaking her head clearing her thoughts of their passion filled dreams. Amethyst meets gray eyes, as Jon blanches when she mentions that, before the grim expression returns. “I...had been fed a lie. But yet, I understand that it was necessary to keep me alive.” Jon hesitantly says, still coming to terms with the new reality of his life and new identity.

“True, do you wonder what your life would have been if…”Daenerys begins to say, “If I look back, I am lost, Your Grace.” He says with a smile. Her purple eyes widen with surprise at the familiar phrase that had helped guide her through her harsh life in Essos. “Well said. There has to be something said for the fact that everywhere you go, there are many people willing to follow you. The way I see it, it’s the blood of the dragon, spurring you forth when you have no one or nothing. Much like my life has been.” Daenerys says in wonder, realizing how much they are truly alike and how they are connected. 

“Aye. When you say it like that it makes sense. I always wanted to make something of my life, not just live and die as a bastard. I loved my siblings, but I never wanted to take their home from them. I made my mark at the Wall, among the Night’s Watch. Now it turns out everyone is looking to me to deal with the threat north of the Wall, and I don’t have the men for it.” He says staring into her eyes, she doesn’t sense any deception, but yet it feels like a tall tale. 

“Dead men, marching at the orders of a monster that was once a man, is it?” Daenerys hesitantly asks, thinking back on the dream or vision she had had the night before. An involuntary shiver runs through her body, he nods his head in agreement letting her know that he had seen the shiver.

“Aye. Thousands of them.” Jon replies, with a raise of his eyebrow. His gray eyes holding her gaze with a tint of a challenge in their depths that seem to draw her in even more.

“You want my armies to defend the North, but what do I get from this? I should just give you my armies for a threat I have never seen?” Daenerys challengingly asks back, already knowing what his answer will and what her council would need from him. She lets out a loud breath of air as she shakes her head wondering which stubborn side would bend first. 

“If they wipe us out, then you’ll have that many more to defeat.” Jon snarks back, causing her to look him in the eyes. Amethyst meeting the intense fire of the silver gaze that belonged to the brooding northern man hiding a dragon inside. “Tell me about them.” She asks, hoping to direct the topic back to their conversation.

“They...bring with them a blizzard, a snow storm and you can’t see in front of you. You may think you know what cold is, but you do not.” He deadpans, and then continues, a haunted look washes over his comely face. “It gets too cold to light torches, and start fires. Even the blood pumping in your chest starts to hurt, it gets so frigid. Next come the blue eyes, they shine like stars, but they bring lifelessness with them. There are too many of them, and you cannot starve them out, nor can you escape, they will pursue you relentlessly, and they all make you wonder what it is to be human. They claw at you like wild dogs, and they don’t have to retreat or make provisions. Cliffs and traps mean nothing to them. Even steel doesn’t quite kill them properly, only flame, Dragonglass, and Valyrian Steel. With as many of them as there are, they could take over the whole land if they are not stopped.” Jon hauntedly says. She gulps after hearing his tale, each word sounds more and more true with each word.

“I can’t just abandon my war with Cersei, she is the closest threat right now. The Wall still stands does it not?” She points out. He rubs his chin in frustration. Now he steps closer to her, making the heat rise in her cheeks. The heat radiating from his body began heating her own leaving barely an inch of space between them. “I care not for the South, I only want to protect my family. I don’t see the North marching to war just so you can put a crown on your pretty head.” 

“Cersei is trying to kill you too, haven’t you noticed?” Daenerys snarkedly asked, “The Lannisters mean nothing to me. For me, there is only the army of the dead. I swore to be the shield that guards the realms of men.” Jon replied, with a raise of his eyebrow. She shakes her head realizing that he was just as stubborn as she when it came to a threat on the horizon. “What good will a shield do if you’ve got a knife in your back?”Daenerys points out rather harshly. He looks at her, perturbed, and doesn’t reply right away.

“Think about it this way. Your family, both sides of them, have a common enemy. You only just found out you were a Targaryen, so I imagine that it hasn’t set in yet. But let’s start with the Starks. Lord Eddard Stark, he was killed on Lannister orders, was he not?” He nods his head still frustrated. “So was Robb Stark, your brother?” He nods again. “Your sisters were locked in King’s Landing by the Lannisters while they were at war with your family, weren’t they?” Daenerys continues. He nods once more, thinking more deeply now. “Lastly, didn’t the war with the Lannisters make it where Winterfell was devoid of men, and Winterfell was attacked, sending your little brothers on the run?” Daenerys asks as she boldly closes the last space between them. Now stepping into his personal space, his familiar woody musk scent hit her nostrils.

Jon is staring at her now his grey eyes fixed upon her violet gaze, he’s deep in thought and rubbing his chin. His eyes are as solemn as a wolf, but they seem to hide the ferocity of a dragon behind them showing her just who this man is, even if he doesn’t know himself.

“Now going a bit further, you may not have thought about it but you are the son of Rhaegar. That means that the usurper would have killed you. When he died, you were still not safe if you were known to be a Targaryen. Why is that?” She pauses and lets that sink into his mind. “Now, being the son of Rhaegar, do you know what happened to his other children, your real brother and sister? And on whose orders? Aegon, and Rhaenys...” Daenerys asks, pressing on with her point. He turns away from her. She can see the breath coming from his mouth as he realizes how deep the Lannisters have affected his life, and not for the better. 

“Is that all you want to tell me or is there more? I thought there was a secret that must be shared.” While looking at him start to avert her gaze, she grows more determined to find the cause of the haunted look in his grey eyes. “Tell me, you don't have to go this alone.”

“I don’t know-how to say, it’s difficult to…”

“We share dreams, you think you can hide the emotions of your handsome face? I’m much more used to being a ruler and pulling secrets from others. You think you can hide from me?” She walks closer to him and observes him shuddering under her stares into his eyes, but not breaking contact with her eyes, his comely face with such intense grey eyes nearly sending her into a tailspin.

“I do not know how you will take it.”

“Out with it, Your Grace, any alliance must be built on trust. You think anything would surprise or shock me, who birthed three dragons?”

“Rhaegar lives…”

What!? Her mother and her brother have returned to her? What kind of madness is this?

She does her best to regain her composure, but it’s a whirlwind of information that just swept her over. “Then, I should tell you that my mother lives as well. Rhaella Targaryen, no longer under the shadow of the ‘Mad King.’ It really makes a legacy to uphold doesn’t it?” She says and lets the cold winds upon the Weirwood trees be the only sound to be heard for a moment. “She wants very much to meet you, and you should bring Rhaegar to Dragonstone. It shall be known as the Court of the Dragons once more.” She says with a smile, one that she hasn’t felt welling inside her for sometime. She need not wonder whether Jon is truly a dragon or not any longer, as only such a man could make her smile like this.

“Aye, Queen Daenerys, he knows the place well, and he shall be the one to bring the Dragonglass to the North when we need to defend from the dead. There is more that we should speak of.”

“Such as?”

“That dragon, I think I need to awaken him, but I neither know the path nor location to wake him. I was hoping you might know.”

She stands before him now in all her glory, looking into his eyes that indicate fear, longing, regret, and yet a strength not seen since sometime before Viserys lost his way. Feeling his pain, she grabs his hand and pulls him closer to her and they both start breathing heavily, with the same recognition from their shared dreams. Cold steam flows from both of their faces, but they don’t notice in the least, lost in each other’s eyes as if there were no other places in the world. Neither of them knows who made the first move but in an instant, their lips meet, and she feels the ice wash over her, but otherwise it feels just as hot as when she birthed her children an inferno of both emotion and a sense of belonging. None of which she has felt for any other man. 

After a time of sharing the warm embrace, she bites his lip, and watches as a slight trickle of blood flows from his lip to the ground, and he wipes it on his and looks on, unbothered.

“Clearly, the way you would wake that dragon is simple. With Fire and Blood. The question is there fire in your blood, Jon Snow? I think there is, but you still think there is only ice there. When you find the fires of your blood you will awaken your dragon. Of that I have no doubt.” Daenerys says flustered, the kiss clearly getting to her more than she remembered any kiss before. 

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Marching through The Neck was treacherous and slow. The mud was blackened and still sticks to their armor. It delayed their march almost a fortnight, and Randyll Tarly isn’t sure that his men are going to hold it together. Part of him likes the challenge of the march North, but as he looks back and sees the men, their teeth are chattering and he sees frostbite on some of the hands on some of the less equipped lads. 

It would not do to disappoint this Queen, so he trudges on forward, losing a few men to desertion every day. If they were willing to desert then he didn’t need to fight beside them. Weak men have no place alongside Randyll Tarly. He scowls at the fact that they remind him of his craven son Samwell. His firstborn, but not the son of Randyll Tarly, he proved himself. Dickon also deserted him, but he knows not where he went. That irritates him even further. 

Part of the way through their march they saw a large black dragon overhead. The foul creature roared at them and sent them in a frenzy, scrambling to try and get to safety from the dragon, but it’s too cold for the dragon to burn them so easily, they were heavily armor-clad, and the mud would not help the fire spread. That’s the good thing about the mud bogs from the Neck. The blackened mud is stuck on all of their armors and it’s even stranger that the crannogmen didn’t attack them at all. Perhaps they retreated back to White Harbor to make their stand. All the better when they crush them. The horse’s hooves crunch through snow, getting thicker and more treacherous the farther north they go. It has been some time since winter had blown cold winds through Randyll Tarly’s bones, but he is no craven so he decides to obey his queen. Warden of the South, he may yet be.

A rider comes up to him, with a raven scroll, indicating that somehow someone knows where he is, and that doesn’t set his mind at ease at all. “What is it lad?” He asks the soldier.

“The King in the North wishes for a parley, my Lord.” 

“A parley, is it? I wonder what the boy wants to say to me.” He opens the direwolf seal on the raven scroll and reads it.

To Lord Randyll Tarly,

The King in the North wishes for a Parley today at midday. To discuss your terms of surrender and for you to send the army back from where it came, otherwise you will feel as helpless as you made Samwell feel when you sent him to the Wall. Choose wisely, or you will learn what the Andals did when they faced the Kings of Winter.

Jon Snow, 

The King in the North

He reads the letter again, not seeing how this false King would know about Samwell, and he doesn’t readily find an answer. He looks up at the sun, and finds that it’s near midday already. 

“I’m going.” He says to the men. 

They nod to him, all saying, “Yes, My Lord.”

“Keep on the watch, make sure you do not get caught unawares, I shall be back to check our provisions and keep the men in line until I get back. Keep the scouts searching for threats and send regular reports, we need to know this treacherous land we are traversing.” He tells his first captain. 

“Aye, My Lord.”

He takes a fresh destrier and rides for the parley. Hopefully he can find something in this young Northern King that will give him an edge in battle. It’s always good to size up your opponent, but he doesn’t imagine he’d have more trouble with this boy than he did the northerners that he battled with in his younger days. He beat Robert Baratheon once, why not a boy king, playing at war?

Riding hard through the snow and ice, he comes upon a tent, where there is one man standing there, heavily furred and solemn faced. There are Northment with boiled leather over armor and thick leather helmets standing outside the tent, and they let him in with no delay. Wearing a thick fur coat and sword of Valyrian Steel. Once he makes eye contact with the grey eyed boy his gaze doesn’t fade from his own. He sees some form of hatred flash over the boy’s face, but not the sort that came from men as they were about to do battle. This flash of hatred was something else, like disgust, but perhaps it’s just the fact that he must do battle with the infamous Lord Randyll Tarly, whose reputation precedes him. The flash of memory of the stern faced and serious Lord Eddard Stark stings in his memory upon looking at the boy. Must be the King in the North. His suspicions are confirmed when he notices the direwolf sigil in the armored breastplate.

“You sent for me.” He says to the boy King. 

“I know Samwell Tarly, not a great warrior, but a man all the same. He is my friend, and he showed us how to defeat the White Walkers. Sam the Slayer we called him at the Wall. He’s more man than you, My Lord. I did send for you to talk terms, I am giving you the chance to surrender before I kill your men. Turn and go back to where you came, the Reach, or Horn Hill, or be destroyed. You know naught of winter’s might.” Jon Snow says to him, as serious as can be. It looks as though he believes what he’s saying. 

“You know nothing of war, boy, just because you took Winterfell back doesn’t mean you can threaten me. Winter means no more to me than a few flakes of snow and some dead northmen. I have the numbers and the will power. We will break you, your lines, your pickets, your trebuchets, your spirits. I will crush them beneath my fist. You are not the first boy King to try to wear breeches too big, shant be the last either.” 

“Last chance. I’m giving you one more chance than you gave your first born son.” Jon Snow says, unbothered.

“I will not surrender, before night fall you’ll see what a real warrior does to his enemies.” 

“Fine, have it your way. Ghost!” 

An enormous white wolf comes from nowhere and trots over to the King in the North, silent as a dead man. This wolf could kill him in an instant, and no one would ever notice. It’s a good thing that this is a parley, and the Starks have honor. The direwolf crouches and lets out a sharp howl, fierce and piercing, throughout the area, and he almost covers his ears. The only reason that he didn’t is because he doesn’t want to show any weakness. 

“The marshes that you marched through, Lord Tarly, you didn’t notice anything about them?” Jon Snow asks.

“What are you on about, boy?” 

“You marched through the Neck, the black mud and didn’t notice that it stuck to your armor?”

“I did, but what are you say-”

“It’s pitch, My Lord. All your men have tar and pitch on them now. One flame from me and they all burn, like a hearth in my bed chamber.” The boy says. 

He doesn’t like the sound of it, but there’s no way that he can get something flaming hot in the men’s ranks. Unless…it finally hits him.

“I just signaled the dragon.” 

He runs back to his horse but it’s probably too late. Mounting the horse, he rides back towards the Lannister armies to warn them, when he hears and feels the ground rumble and overhead he can see the large black dragon swooping down and roaring over his men. In nearly an instant the winged creature circles back around and is right on the men that just marched North.

The dragon is up in the sky over his encampment. The black dread lets out a stream of bright fire on the lines of men and they start catching flame like they were haystacks. Riding back as fast he can, only carnage awaits him. He jumps off the horse trying to help his men, but he finds his options limited.

Screaming men start running everywhere, panicking and frenziedly hurrying in every direction. The ones that aren’t screaming are already dead, the smell of smoke and ash is now blowing in the wind.

It looks like at least half of his men are on fire, and it’s still spreading. Dragon flame is no usual flame it seems, it runs through them like they were logs of pine and oak. They may as well be to a dragon. That blasted pitch is making them catch fire much faster than he thought possible.

The fear finally sets in for Randyll Tarly, and he feels the pressure all the way up to the top of his head, he can do nothing but look around as the lion banner lights afire, along with the Tarly Banner hidden in the sea of red and gold lions. Men and banners are being reduced to ashes, and scattering in the wind. 

I suppose I need to surrender now.

He doesn't get the chance as men come forward and put him in irons, throwing him back on the horse. “The King in the North gave us leave to capture you, Lord Tarly. We are taking you to him so you can bend the knee and he will let us live.” His first captain says to him.

He has to admit he would do the same thing in this opportunity. To think, this is what treachery wrought him, he betrayed Lady Olenna, and sided with Queen Cersei against the Targaryens, and yet his army was the first to burn. 

“Treason’s debt is paid…” He whispers, but the men are unable to hear him over the screaming men behind them. 

A shadow passes them and he looks back to see the dragon uncomfortably close, and it roars, shaking the ground and scaring the life out of him and his men. Even worse for the horse, it throws him to the ground and falls over, right on top of him. 

He howls just as loud as the wolf did, in his mind before he passes out.

Horrid pain shoots him awake as someone is poking and prodding his arm. He finds himself groggy and unable to lift his sword arm as he tries to get up. His blurry vision clears and finds men kneeling in irons, and the King in the North standing in a tent, looking like he’s counting coppers. Perhaps he’s about to ransom me…

What he missed is the Maester working on his arm, “It’s broken in three places.” A familiar voice says.

He turns his head to see Samwell, his first born son, working on his broken arm and the pain is near unbearable. “Samwell…” Is all he can mutter.

“Randyll.” Samwell says, eyeing him with disdain, not ‘Lord Father’ nor ‘My Lord,’ but Randyll. His first instinct would be to smack the boy for his insolence, but he can’t lift his arm, and when he tried it felt like being run through with a sword.

Samwell notices this and just shakes a little before saying to him, “Your arm is broken in three places, you will never hold a sword in that arm again, Lord Tarly. Be glad that the horse didn’t kill you.”

“I’m still a better soldier than you, you fat craven boy.” He blurts out. Maybe I shouldn’t say that to a person that’s treating me, he thinks to himself, but it had become a habit. Insulting the boy was as natural to him as riding a horse.

A northman comes over to Samwell and speaks to him, wondering what is to be done with him. 

“Put a cast on it, with a long piece of wood as a stint, and make sure you tie it tight, the arm is not to move until the cast is gone.” 

Quite practical, he must admit, surprised that his son would treat him after how he sent him to the Wall. 

“What shall we do about the bruising on the legs, it looks minor, shall we leech it or just let it heal, Samwell?” A northman says. 

“Oh, that. Right. Well, we are going to amputate that leg. The leg is no good.”

His eyes widen and he’s about to speak out when men come forth and hold his mouth and none broken arm, as well as his legs and he squirms and pleads all the while, all unheard. 

“Should we give him milk of the poppy?” He hears someone ask. “N-N-No, he said he was a man... and he sent me to the Wall to toughen me up, I-I-I- think he can take it.” Samwell says nervously. 

A big Northman, with a bear sigil on his chest now takes Heartsbane, his own sword, and holds it over his leg, while he tries to squirm and scream, being held down by a few men. The man now swings the sword in practice to get a feel for it, and another northman comes forth and holds his leg, tying a bandage around his knee. 

Randyll doesn’t remember the blade swinging, nor the tear of the flesh of his leg. Just a flash of silver, and then a searing pain in his leg. It then occurred to him that this would be a good time to take a nap, mayhaps he’ll awaken and this will be just a dream. Pain is a familiar feeling, but this flash of pain was like nothing he ever experienced, a sting that turned into a strong searing pain. It’s times like this that a man remembers just how fragile the human body is, a thin veil of skin and bone with meat and muscle.

It seems that even in his dreams, his arm and leg are painful, however.

  
  


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The dragon flies away, with a deep roar, and the snowy winds from beneath the black wings. Arya did not once take her eyes from the beautiful creature. The smell of burning men was a different sort of death than what she knew before, but she doesn’t feel a pang of sympathy for any of the Lannister men. In fact, it makes a jolt down her spine to see the golden Lion banner burn, scattering terrible ashes and leaving a smoldering ruin. 

She looks at Jon to see what his face shows, and as usual, conflict is washing over his face. Nothing like an identity crisis to make a King question everything. Funny thing is, she knows a lot about such things. Even though her brother is really a Targaryen, he’s still the most like her in her whole family. Interesting thought, but it’s time to snap him out of it.

“She’s right, you know.” A she says from the clearing in the forest. She turns to see Jon, weapon clad and silently approaching, or so he thinks. Jon turns to her, and she notices he wipes away a single tear. “Arya, what are you…” Jon says but then she speaks up.

“The dead are a problem, yes, but while we fight in the North, Cersei will stab us in the back. You can count on it, it’s the one thing the Lannisters are good at. They almost succeeded in killing your whole family, and that includes your Targaryen family. Do not be so blinded by what you’ve experienced that you would allow them to ruin your life once again.” Arya says. Jon looks at Arya, and then Ghost, and then back and forth between them. Ghost tilts his head at Jon, letting out a soft whine before looking over to Arya.

“You make good points, I shall not be so blind that I don’t see the ‘daggers in the dark,’ as I was once told and didn’t listen to. I was just deciding what I shall do with the Lannister army that is left after they marched past the Neck. Let me share with you my plans, if you care to hear them.” Jon says to her. She nods and smiles. He’s coming into his own as a King now.

Jon tells her just what he plans to do, and it sounds better than anything that he had mentioned so far. She feels glad to have someone, or something to look forward to, and her loneliness begins to dissipate, if only for a moment. It brings a smile to her face, to know that she is not alone in the world any longer, and she silently resolves to keep it that way. 

“Arya, go back to Winterfell, inform the North of my decision, and I shall await word of the armies moving for the South and join you when I get word. Tell them that we aim to secure the seven Kingdoms against the dead so that we don’t cripple the armies of the living. The dragons have returned.” Arya reads her brother's face, before nodding with a sly smile, and then gives a horrible curtsy. Septa Mordane would be ashamed of the curtsy she just did, but then, that would be the least of her Septa’s worries when it came to Arya. After Jon turns away, she pelts him with a snowball. It hits him square on the cheekbone. He laughs like a kid, deep and hoarse in the cold, and they throw snowballs back and forth just like they were back in Winterfell so long ago. Now she straightens up when a Northman comes forward and speaks to Jon, and he shakes the snow out of his dark curly hair. 

“Your Grace.” The girl said with a sly smile and trots off. She finds a horse and travels North for Winterfell, to tell Father of her plans, and solidifies Jon’s rule as King in the North. So far, he has her seal of approval. She even got to see a dragon.

__________________________________________________________________

  
  
  


“Open the Gate!”

The thick wooden doors push snow aside as snow falls on the ramparts of Winterfell. It’s a thick, heavy snow, that makes you long for a hearth and the comfort of a woman. Nostalgic and heartwarming it is for Lord Eddard Stark to see the winter folk working towards survival. Shoveling snow from the ramps and stairs, and handing out soups and stews to keep warm, and the damage from the burning from years past doesn’t escape his gaze. Ned would like to tell himself that he saw everything from here, but yet he still missed so much. His children are all different, even to the point where he hardly recognizes them. He must have been at least an okay father, because they all still respect him, and that seems like all he could ask for.

Darker thoughts also stir in his mind, at the thought of how he must have failed them, when they needed him, though it was more the perils of war that brought death to their doorstep. Most of the time, nothing would move him and he’d be the calmest Lord of Winterfell there ever was, but the thought having a horde of dead men marching upon them is unsettling. Not only that, but Jon was his King, and he hopes he truly fulfilled his promise to Lyanna. Her last thoughts were of her son, and yet he lied to him to keep him alive. Now he knows the truth and nothing would ever be the same between them, but it’s all the same if the boy lives, but no, he’s man grown now. He even makes me look like a child of summer, he thinks with a chuckle. 

“Lord Stark!” A guard comes forth and it seems his presence is needed. 

“Aye, lad, what is it?” 

“Theon Greyjoy has requested and audience with you, to make amends he says.” The guard announced. 

Ned sighs, he’s not looking forward to this in the slightest. Theon Turncloak they call him now, and he raised this boy. As much as Catelyn hated Jon, she treated Theon better, and he was the one that bared watching. The thought of her reminds him of her smell, and how she was his, but it also reminds him of the first woman he ever loved, a name he’d not thought of since Cersei accused him of killing her, the Lady Ashara and her beautiful violet eyes. You never forget your first love, it seems. 

I suppose it’s my brain trying to talk me out of murdering Theon, he reasons as he walks down the stairs towards the gates of the castle he calls home, and doesn’t want to ever leave again. 

Theon looks like he’s been through all the seven hells, and from what he heard, he has. But Ned is still wondering what would make a man turn his back on the people that raised him so. The look on Theon’s face is a mewling, like a dog that hasn’t eaten in days, and when he lays eyes on Ned the boy nearly faints.

“Theon Greyjoy.” He says with a stern voice, and the Ironborn lad shrinks back in fear.

“Lord Stark…” Theon says, but he turns and goes to his solar. “Bring him to my solar,” He tells the northmen.

“Aye, Lord Stark.”

He stares at the ceiling for a time, hoping the words that he needs to say to this boy will come to him.

As he looks up, Robb comes into the room and stands in the corner. He looks to Theon with various feelings, but most often he sees anger on his face. Robb clenches his fist, but he stands back and let’s Ned speak to him before he jumps in, which he really must commend him for. 

“Jon sent you back to Winterfell.”

“He did, he said he wasn’t going to kill me. But if I made it back alive then I deserve to live.”

“You don’t.” Robb says.

“Sansa says you saved her. But what would possess you to hurt my family and my people. Did you learn nothing from me?” He says with a balled fist, ready to hurt the lad at a moment’s notice.

“I thought I was being what I was meant to be, you know what family is, and what they do.”

“We are not our family, Theon, otherwise you are saying you should have been killed in your crib.”

Theon shrinks back and shudders. “I’m sorry.” Theon says and falls to his knees.

“You should be, Theon, I gave you meat and mead at my own table boy. What madness have you wrought, and for what purpose?”

Theon’s voice cracks, and he chokes back a sob. Neither Robb nor Ned feel for him though.

“I was trying to be my father’s son. His only son left to him, and he treated me like trash in the sea! I hated him, but yet I still wanted to be his son! I hated myself most of all for it. I was torn to pieces and I didn’t know what to do. If you want to execute me, then go right ahead. I deserve no less than that.”

“Get up, Theon.”

Theon stands up slowly and peeks his eyes open to look upon the face of the man he admired so much. Ned punches him square in the face, and Theon falls back with a stagger. Lord Eddard now grabs his neck and holds him in his hands, threatening to take a life.

“You don’t get to just apologize, you don’t get to ask for sweet mercy. You take your punishment like a man, but you are still a boy. Don’t you think that you can get away with just dying for your mistakes.” He bangs Theon’s back against the wall and Theon doesn’t make a move to defend himself. 

“You don’t have any fight left in you, Theon. You are not even worthy of my blade through your neck. Go and make something of yourself, and maybe one day you’ll be a man.”

Fire returns to Theon’s eyes. He looks like life has come back to him by the look on his face.

“Jon told me to make amends, and that’s what I came to do, My Lord. I failed you, and I shan’t fail again lest I die a terrible death. Forgive me My Lord, and Robb. I’ll do whatever I can.” Theon goes to one knee.

“Earn your life back, Theon. You’ll know it when it happens, Jon may yet need your help with Iron Islands when it comes time to unite the Seven Kingdoms. I’ll never trust you again, but if Jon says you might deserve your life then I shall not take it from you. There is a decent man in there somewhere, find him for me, will you?” He says to his once ward

. Theon Gets up and stands back against the wall before admitting that it was his idea to try and take Winterfell, as the Ironborn have the custom of reaving when others are away at war. Eddard still has his wrist right up to Theon’s throat when the door flings open and Ned drops his 

arm immediately. 

Lady Ashara Dayne walks into the room, with her eyes fixed on his face, and his heart stops, remembering all the love that he wished he could have given her, if not for Robert’s Rebellion and the Mad King, causing Ned to curse them both.

“Ash.” He says and goes up to her, putting his hand on her beautiful face and drawing closer to her. They kiss and he never felt anything so sweet.

After they part lips begrudgingly, two young dornish children step forward, looking nervous and mildly happy at the same time. First a girl with a pretty face like Ashara’s, but a lady-like attitude like Sansa in the way she walks, but the fierce stare of Arya too, it makes his heart melt even further. Next is a boy that reminds him of Ser Arthur Dayne in his mannerisms, not a wasted movement, nor a stifled breath, and the way his footwork is says that he’s more dangerous than his boyish exterior shows. Behind it all is a calm demeanor, but he looks almost like Brandon too, he has the dark hair and stern posture of a Stark.

“Meet your children, Lord Eddard, Ulrick and Daynna Sand, the Dornish direwolves.”

He’s not sure if he can even speak, let alone walk forward, as the nerves paralyze him from head to toe.

__________________________________________________________________

  
  


Still thinking about that dream in the Isle of Faces, and then the meeting with Daenerys, Jon is left to wonder what it all meant.

“Look for me, where you’d not think to find a dragon.” A voice says. 

Jon’s set of gray eyes looks around, only seeing darkness, save for some dimly lit torches. It is then that he realizes that he is in the crypts below Winterfell, and it feels like all the eyes of the statues are looking at him.

“Winter..fell…” The voice says cryptically, the voice is deep and rumbling, augmented by the faint smell of smoke and ash. 

Now Jon walks farther into the crypts, barely visible in the darkness, but they do not see each other. 

“The dead are not truly gone...if they live in your heart…” The voice says again. 

The two sets of eyes rove over the scene of a dark and dreary area, stone walls and ceilings, and then they chance upon a statue. It’s the statue of Torrhen Stark, the former King in the North.

“As mighty as a man can be, to dragons they will bend the knee.” The voice says once more. 

A heavy stone door closes behind the statue and it seems that he is locked in. It seems warmer somehow, and the heat is getting more intense and smoke starts to fill the area. 

I thought that heat rose, that’s odd that the farther down I go, the hotter it gets. 

Walking farther in the dark area, the heat gets more and more intense, as he continuously passes statues. Jon arrives now at the statue of Cregan Stark, The Old Man of Winterfell. He had sided with Rhaenyra in the Dance of Dragons. Jon starts realizing that the North had been more entwined in the south when the dragons were around. I suppose they still are, Jon thinks to himself, looking at his hands like they belong to someone else. 

There is crumbled rock, and openings in a wall as he reaches the end of the corridor, past the statue of Brandon the builder. “Warmer,” The voice says to Jon, and it’s actually making him sweat. Tearing the stones away from the heat, they feel smoldering to the touch and he drops each one quickly. As he finally tears a few away, he heads into the smoking chamber of stone to find the origin of that voice. 

Upon entering the dark area where the torches are no longer, Jon can’t help but feel there’s another set of eyes on him. 

“What is your meaning, your purpose, your goal?” The loud voice says, it’s ringing his ears like a bell tower, the soot and smoke rising and filling his nose with grit and grime. He doesn’t respond.

“Your purpose shall be written in your blood then.” A sharp object pricks his finger quickly and a sharp pain accompanies it. It’s nothing when compared to being stabbed in the heart, so Jon doesn’t shrink back at all. 

Now the room seems to gain a little light, as if his blood was a flame. “Fire and Blood, mixed with winter, a king, a prince, a crown. You will be the sword to bring the dawn, and under life’s weight, try not to drown.” The voice says as bright orange eyes open, luminescent and large, their gaze right upon his face. The castle rumbles and shakes and the maw of a great dragon opens and spews flames into the open air and all over the stone walls of the hidden part of the crypts. Crashing rocks and stone abound, and he covers his head with his arms, as the stones come barreling towards him and in every direction. 

After some time, he wakes up with his face in the snow outside, and is shocked to see a hole in the ground the size of a pond, or even a lake, a pool of water and steam left behind where the snows were. This is the dead of winter, what can generate that kind of heat?

His question is answered when he sees the sunlight in the blue sky on the other side of the castle, as the dark sky is directly above him hidden by clouds, swirling and moving quickly in the wind. Then a shadow comes from behind the clouds, making the sky even darker as it gets closer. It’s a gigantic dragon, grey and ancient, swooping down and eyeing him with intrigue, neither of them backing down from the staring. 

This ancient dragon has been here all this time? Did it fall here in the Long Night? 

Wait a second...If it ‘fell,’ in ‘Winter,’ and no one knows how the hot springs got so warm, could this be where the name of Winterfell came from? This would explain the hot springs that Winterfell was built on, but how long ago was that? Jon found that he didn’t have an answer.

The gigantic dragon flaps its wings and blows mighty winds towards Jon causing him to cover his face, before flying around and landing on the ground in front of Jon ready to take flight. He slowly climbs up the scaled creature, slipping on some of the scales that have remnants of snow on them.

Together they take to the skies, and for the first time, Jon knows what it feels like to be a dragon.

__________________________________________________________________

  
  
  


Ashara sighs as she stares at the grey stoned castle of Winterfell glistening off the snow that covered the walls like a blanket. The famous castle of Winterfell that was the heart and soul of the north including the Stark family that ruled over them. She clutches her fur cloak tighter around herself as her mare continues to trudge through the newly fallen snow. The cold being more bitter than what she had been told of the winters in the north, this coldness almost appeared magical. “This is colder than Oberyn claimed.” Arthur complains, as he pulls his fur cloak tighter around his body struggling to stay warm. Ashara rolled her eyes at her brother’s whining, Ulrick and Daynna giggled at their mother and uncle’s banter. “I don’t remember you complaining this much growing up.” She snarked back at her brother. Causing him to look at her over his shoulder and glare at her, she just raised her eyebrow challenging him to tell her otherwise. 

  
  


He mumbled under his breath as she grinned in triumph, “Have you two always been like this?” Daynna asks with her violet eyes shining with curiosity. Ulrick sits up straighter on his saddle trying to look not so interested in the conversation but failing all the while when he perked up at the question. “Your mother and I have always been close. In some ways our older brother felt left out due to Ashara and I being closer in age.” Arthur explains to his niece and nephew. “Like how close Daynna and I are?” Ulrick asks, with enthusiasm as Arthur nods in confirmation. 

“Yes, it's a bit different though, because both of you have your twin bond that your mother and I do not share.” Arthur continues explaining. Daynna and Ulrick smile nodding their heads in understanding. “My lady, sorry to interrupt.” Redflea says, riding up closer to them. “Yes Redflea, what is it?” Ashara asks, looking away from her children and her brother. “The men are wondering where we should leave the carts full of grain and gold?” Redflea asks, as she looks at the wall near the gate. “Right next to the gate should be good until we meet with Lord Stark to house the grain in the storage unit.” Arthur says, before Ashara could respond. She sighs in frustration at her brother’s imperatience, Redflea looks to Ashara for confirmation since Daenerys had put her in charge of the one hundred unsullied. “Yes Redflea,the right of the gate works.” Ashara assured him as he nodded his head and urged his horse towards the men marching behind them. “Who goes there?” The men atop of the gate ask, causing Ashara to halt before the black gate that stood before them. “I am Lady Ashara Dayne from Starfall under orders of Daenerys Targaryen to bring supplies to Lord Stark and the king of the north.” Ashara tells the guard. The guard turns to the man next to him whispering in his ear, they see him nod as he turns and races into the castle from the turrets of the wall. 

“You may enter Lady Ashara, Lord Stark is waiting for you. We shall escort you to the grandhall and my men shall escort your men to the courtyard and determine what supplies you have brought to us.” The guard says, as he motions with hand and his men begin opening the gate. She nods her head, turning to her children and her brother motioning with her hand for them to go first. She urges her horse to Redflea who was waiting for her at the right side of the gate with the carts full of grain and gold. A guard in the house Stark colors walked towards them, “This is the letter from Queen Daenerys.” She says, before the guard can say anything. She holds the letter out for him to see, he grabs the letter from and looks it over. 

  
  
  


“Lord Stark,

  
  
  
  


To survive this winter we needed the grain that house Tyrell provided, Lady Olenna has revealed to me of the alliance the King in the North holds with her grandson Garlan Tyrell. Queen Daenerys, has asked Lady Ashara Dayne to bring you the last of the Tyrell grain and the gold from their mines and one hundred Unsullied to aid you in the protection of Winterfell. The Lannisters were going to take the grain and the gold from house Tyrell along with ending the Tyrell line. The people of Highgarden are currently at Dragonstone.

  
  


Tyrion Lannister Hand of the queen Daenerys Targaryen.”

  
  


The guard places the letter back in the envelope as he looks back up at Ashara and the Unsullied. “Lord Stark will be much appreciative of the grain and he will find it interesting about the gold.” The guard says, “The unsullied can go with Leo, will show them where they can put the grain and the gold and rest during their stay here.” The guard continues. Redflea turns and speaks in Valyrian to the rest of his men. Then he motions with his hands for the Cart drivers to move forward through the gate. “Lady Ashara please follow me and I’ll escort you to Lord Stark along with your friends.” The guard says, as he turns on his heel and begins walking through the gate. “He is a man of small words.” Ashara mushed as Redflea nodded his head in understanding. 

  
  


She still found it interesting that Queen Daenerys had taught every single one of the Unsullied that she had freed to read and write and surprisingly westerosi as well. She found the young queen very interesting and different from any other royal she knew besides Elia Martell. Though it would also appear that Jon Snow, or rather Aegon Targaryen was another royal to watch for he is just as honorable and noble as Jaehaerys Targaryen the conciliator. Ashara urges her horse through the gate slowly following behind the guard as he walks into the courtyard of Winterfell. Two servants rush forward and grab the reins from Redflea and Ashara.

  
  


They slide down from their horses and allow the servants to lead the horses to the stable. Ashara looks around the courtyard for her brother and children seeing them talking with the young guard named Leo. A smile appeared on Ashara’s lips that was painted red with the beauty paint her handmaiden had made the day prior. Watching her brother with her children like when they had been little always brought a smile to her lips. 

  
  


“Leo let’s take our guests to the courtyard.” The other guard ordered, causing Leo to stop talking and glance over at what appeared to be his commander. “Let’s go Arthur, Daynna, and Ulrick, it’s time to meet Lord Stark.” Ashara says, as Arthur glanced over his shoulder as he nodded his head whispering to Ulrick and Daynna. Both looking nervous yet excited about finally meeting their father after all this time. She was more apprehensive about this meeting with her old first love. She just didn’t understand why she is feeling this way. Perhaps she just doesn’t want to let go of her children to a man who had in a sense abandoned her during the rebellion going against his word and married another.

  
  
  


The doors to the castle of Winterfell opened and the guards led them through the entryway into the main hallway of Winterfell. They could see carvings of direwolves inlaid in the walls of the hall on either side of them. Torches lighted the way as they continued down the hall and finally came to a stop at the double doors that led to the grand hall and Lord Stark. Ashara takes a deep breath readying herself to seeing the man who held her heart. Then she exhales finding herself not so apprehensive as she had once been. The doors to the grand hall open allowing them to walk into a rather large chamber with tables pointed towards the front of the chamber with three higher tables. Seated at the table was none other than Lord Eddard Stark, there of course are other people possibly lords by the looks of them seated at the other tables. “Lord Stark, Lady Ashara Dayne is here with orders from Queen Daenerys Targaryen. She brought a letter with her from the queen’s hand Tyrion Lannister.” The commanding guard says. Ned looks at her with both love and nervousness in both his gray eyes and his demeanor. This alleviated the apprehension she had felt seeing him for both herself and her children. The air in her lungs was suddenly sucked out by looking at the man who held her heart in his hands still, he was just as handsome as the day she had first seen him across the dance floor of Harrenhal all those years ago. 

The guard takes the letter from his hand and, taking his gaze from Ashara for just a moment, begins to read what Tyrion wrote on behalf of Queen Daenerys. “Lady Ashara, it is good to see you after all these years.” Ned says, setting the letter down on the table in front of him. Ashara the words she wanted to say stuck in the middle part of her throat. This was the first time in her entire life that she found herself speechless. Ned’s gray eyes widened in concern as he waited for her to say something. She sighed as she took a deep breath and let it out through her nose, “It’s good to see you as well, Lord Stark.” Ashara says breathlessly. Finding that speaking was still hard for her to do even though she had finally found her words. 

  
  


She knew that seeing Ned was the reason for her issue with speech. She continued looking at Ned feeling redness beginning to heat her cheeks under his continued scrutiny. “Your queen has done us a major service by bringing the grain to us. We also understand why she brought the gold here. The Lannister’s attack on Highgarden is disturbing.” Ned says, with worry evident in his tone.

  
  


“Yes it is. Though I think it’s now time for us to talk privately. Arthur will tell the lords whatever else you need.” Ashara says, in a pleading tone. Ned looked to the other members of the council, if you could call them that. Ashara thought to herself as she looked away from Ned to look at the lords of the north. Alarci had told her of the disrespect of these “hardy” men that always remembered the transgressions that the south had done to them. Rather than admitting to their own mistakes and the fact that they also betrayed the south in a way. Ashara thought to herself once again as she shook her head. Knowing that these thoughts weren’t helping, she also knew she would soon be alone with him before her children could meet with him. The lords nod their heads, Ned nods his head and stands up from his chair motioning with his hand for Ashara to follow him. She looks over at her children, “You will meet your father just as soon as we are done with our meeting.” Ashara whispers to Daynna and Ulrick. “We have waited for this long mother. What’s a few more minutes?” Daynna jokingly says, causing Ashara to shake her head.

  
  


_________________________________________________________________

The reach was lush with grain and vegetables growing in the harvest moons of the long autumn. Before a long winter comes a long summer, he was always told. This one promised to be no different, and perhaps a thousand times more deadly. It doesn’t hurt to have dragons on your side, he thinks to himself, watching the grain and gold wagoned away to the North for the possible duration of the largest army the world has ever seen. Tyrion walks around the camps, inspecting the men, and trying to brush up on his Valyrian and Dothraki, hoping that he doesn’t sound like a drunken fool. Wouldn’t be the first time that someone had thought such things. The green and cream colored dragons fly overhead, tooting a short flame as if they approve of his assessment. Odd how I’m more afraid of Cersei than I am these fire-breathing dragons.

After the day’s activities, a cup of wine finds its way into his hand, and this is the first time in a long while that he has seen the Iron Throne in a positive light. The problem here is that no one is going to exactly welcome three dragons with open arms, likely they will run away with fear. As much as people feared his father and his sister, more often people will have much more fear for something that they do not understand. I do hope my dear Queen understands this. Perhaps that’s what she has me for.

The black dragon roars, sending the dying trees shaking, and sending gusts of snow and leaves forth as the Unsullied clank their spears to their shields to herald the coming of their Queen. He just lifts a cup of wine up, and resolves to find out what is going on in her head, if she will let him in that is. After she lands, she dismounts and has a fiery look in her eyes, leaving Tyrion not exactly sure what she has done and where she has been. She looks beautiful as ever, with her long silver braid, black scaled armor and dragon-pinned brooch. As she walks toward him in a queenly fashion, he can’t help to feel a pang of jealousy for the man that would claim her hand. After she glances over to him, her small smile gives him all the reassurance he needs to speak up and find out exactly what he can do for her as her Hand. I’m the Hand of a dragon, but dragons don’t have hands do they? A stray thought, but as she walks upon him she pours a goblet of wine for herself. Tyrion doesn’t know whether to ask of the subtle blush upon her face, or of the ash upon her hair and armor. Obviously she smells of queenly flowers, bathed in oils and scents of the Free Cities, but yet the ash is there, and something that he cannot quite place. “Did you have a good time, Your Grace?” Her stare betrays nothing, but he could swear that she looked like she had a longing, and with as strong as the smell of ash is upon her armor, he’s clear that something has burned. She says nothing in response.

“Were you setting a hearth on your journey, Your Grace? The nights have surely gotten much colder.”

“I have indeed.” 

“I see, my Queen. What sort of firewood did you set upon the hearth, or did you just use what was already set for use?”

“My Lord Hand, I used the wood of banners, mighty Lions with paws of gold and coated with red to light my hearth, I do find myself much warmer than I was before. You have seen this banner before, yes? Was not easy to burn, I admit, but burn it did.”

“I see, Your Grace, a difficult hearth to light indeed. Did you also somehow manage to light the fires elsewhere, I see a queenly posture, but yet there is the look of another fire lit.” An ever so faint blush creeps on her face, that she’s certain she has hidden from him.

“Your Grace, I have admitted to you that I know the inside of a brothel better than I know my own head at times. I know the look of a person that has certain...intentions…”

“Indeed you have, My Lord Hand, and I do believe that you may be confusing me with one of the whores you knew. I am not such a woman. I am a Queen.”

“Did you know that my job as your Hand is to advise you, and put you on the throne? How can I accomplish this goal if I do not know where you are and what your desires are?”

“A Queen does not divulge all her secrets, Tyrion. Surely with as large a head as yours, you cannot claim to know everything.”

“While that may be true, there was some reason you chose me to be your Hand.”

“I’m wondering that myself, do you have anything else to add, or would you like to take orders from Lady Olenna?”

“It’s just that, My Queen. Have you given much thought to how you are going to convince Westeros that you are not your father?” 

“By not being my father, Tyrion, is that not clear enough to you?”

“It is to me, but imagine being a starving family in Flea Bottom, having just seen the great Sept of Baelor burn, what will you think when you see three fully grown dragons flying above?” 

Her smile fades as she ponders on this. “Fair point Tyrion, but I am the Mother of Dragons, what would you have me do?” 

“Show the people of King's Landing that you are not your father, Your Grace. Feed them and cherish them, show them love and not terror. Fear is fine to a certain respect, but love is much more sweet.”

“Love then, alright. Two children of two terrible men, having never known love, how can you show someone else what you never had? I thought you were supposed to be advising me, Tyrion, not the other way around.”

“That’s just it, I’m wondering how even though we are not our fathers, at the same time, we are like them, are we not?” She deadpans into a Queenly stare that frightens him.

“Explain.”

“I killed my father on his privy, while he was cursing my name and sleeping with a woman I thought I loved. In that respect I am more Tywin Lannister than Tywin himself. You wanted to burn a city when they returned to subjugating their people after freeing them. Does that not reek of Aerys Targaryen, second of his name? Was it love that motivated you to do that, and what does one know of love, having never truly had the pleasure? Funny thing about love, it can reverse into an equal amount of hatred when the pressure is applied to an ultimate degree. This is what our fathers did not learn. We have a chance to learn to love, and I think I have just the thing.”

“I’m all ears, lover boy.”

“Bring food to King's Landing, by the wagon. Show a family that they are worth you risking your life to feed them, truly, with no assurances.”

“Smuggling food in a city under siege is more likely to get you eaten, Tyrion. Not to mention that they are walled up and the gates are closed, shall I catapult it in, and have my men shot down, only for Cersei to claim that the capital is under attack?”

“No, Your Grace, those walls are thick and well manned, twenty or thirty feet high, I do believe, catapults will not do. But that does not leave us helpless to get your people food does it?”

She smiles brightly at him, a beautiful smile, reaching her violet eyes like a fire. Ideas have often been likened to fire, where they take form and grow or die, depending on the level of nurturing. Queen Daenerys places her hand on his and then stands up, looking back to him before she leaves the room. 

“A walled up city means nothing to a dragon. I shall bring them food from the skies, and show them what a Queen can do. I knew there was some reason I made you my Hand. Well done, Tyrion.”

  
  



End file.
